To Steal from a Thief
by TheAnonymousTypist
Summary: Lillian Glass is a thief. When a job goes wrong that could compromise everything she's worked for she has a chance encounter with the Consulting Criminal. Trying to salvage the mess she's made of everything she runs into the Consulting Detective, and now everything's gone sideways. Lillian must choose between the life she's always known, and the one's she's never considered. OC.
1. Chapter 1

_First story, first Chapter. Well, we'll give it a go and see what we turn up. Hopefully this won't go over as terrible as I imagine it and people enjoy it more than I assume they will. I'm extremely self-conscious about my writing so if you notice an error please point it out, politely, I'd hate for things to get nasty if your rude._

_Anyway, it's been awhile since I submitted anything for public viewing so hopefully this goes well. A heads up the time line is going to be a little scrambled so if you notice something out of place it's okay, I'm aware of it. Granted, if it's glaringly out of place then yes point it out._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or anything that Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss have touched, i.e. written. I do however own all of my OC's so please do try not to steal those, I've worked ever so hard on them._

_Enjoy!_

_-X-_

It had been on Tuesday, when everything turned sour. She hated Tuesdays, the day right before the middle of the work week, the day when you realize maybe Mondays weren't so bad and Wednesday's never came soon enough. Nothing good ever happened on a Tuesday.

It had seemed like a relatively nice day, the air just right the perfect mixture of a soft sea breeze against the harsh heat, California summer's always were just right. The smell of a cool salty breeze, she enjoyed a lazy day sunning on the balcony of her beach front home.

Not that sunning ever helped, her pale skin seemed to refract the suns rays, she only managed a sun-kissed glow that never seemed to last.

The glass doors to the balcony were pushed open, but she doesn't even twitch. He'd been in the house for quite sometime bustling about like a chicken without a head, she was rather glad when he finally gained the nerve to just confront her about whatever was troubling him. Any longer and she was certain to pitch him over the cliffs.

He ran a hand through his reddish auburn hair, giving an irritable huff of annoyance before turning sharply towards her, green eyes narrowed. "Tell me you didn't?" he begged.

She rolled her jade eyes at him from behind the large bug eyed sun glasses. "That would be impossible to do, as I haven't the slightest clue what your talking about" she sighed lazily, leaning back into the hammock.

"The painting?" he prompted sharply, wandering towards her and blocking out the sun light.

Now thoroughly irritated she sits up a little, glaring sharply at him, her lips tugged down into a frown. "Your going to have to be more specific, there have been a lot of paintings" she snapped back angrily.

"The Vermeer?" he demands sharply, ignorant of the danger in her tone. "The one that's gone missing after it's exhibit in the art gallery in San Francisco?" he continues angrily.

She raises one petite eyebrow, "Possibly" she admits. "What day was it exactly?"

"You mean there were more?" he splutters angrily his face shading an angry crimson.

"It was a busy weekend!" she defends lightly, a small smile playing at her lips.

"This isn't funny Lillian!? They've called in experts, FBI, that sort of thing!" the man shouts at her exasperated. As if by raising the volume of his voice the message will be received clearer than if it had just been spoken normally. She almost laughs at this thought, he should know better.

Lillian sighs leaning back once more into the hammock with an exaggerated groan, "Your being dramatic Jackson!" she scolded, "I was extremely careful this time round, nothing like that last time in France, ugh! That was dreadful, won't be going back there for a while" she muses, fishing around the side of the hammock for one of the sunning mirrors.

Not finding it immediately she gives up and turns back towards him, "Besides I didn't take it, it was a fake I don't take fakes!" she defends sharply, eyes narrowed as if begging him to challenge her.

"I'm being dramatic" he demands his voice raising an octave, the muscles in his forehead twitch as if they are about to burst. "I'm the one being dramatic!" he's practically raving now, she can practically see the foam coming from his mouth. "You burned it in a dumpster out back?" he retorts angrily, fist clenching.

She shrugs sheepishly, "Okay so that might have been a tad overdramatic, in my defense I put _a lot_ of effort into getting into the building and studying the plans, on top of that do they realize how much gas is nowadays? I had to drive all the way down there to come home empty handed" she sighs flippantly. "I think that's the tragic part of all this" she adds playfully, trying to make him smile, might lighten his mood.

He throws her a look, and slumps into one of the metal chairs near the hammock, massaging his forehead with the tips of his fingers. "You promised you'd stop" he finally allows.

At this she turns away to stare out over the vast expanse of blue that's laid out before her, anything but the man sitting next to her, whose face is twisted into sadness and defeat. Guilt playing with her nerves and stomach, making her suddenly jittery.

She doesn't apologize, she doesn't acknowledge his pain, the emotions that play across his face. It's hard to explain, especially to someone whose never been exposed to this kind of life, the temptation, the pure utter exhilaration. He'll never understand, no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he wants to talk about it, he'll never understand the need.

And so she forced a bright smile onto her lips and gently puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry Jack it won't happen again!" she promises her brother, and then she nudges him with her elbow. "Go home say hi to the wife and kids, we'll talk about it later" she promises.

At this he brightens considerable, pecking his older sister on the cheek he leaves. That was his first mistake, putting trust into a compulsive liar. By the time he'd pulled out of the drive she'd already contacted the movers, contacted her real estate agent, arranged for some of the large pieces to be sold at auction and booked her flight.

She felt the need for a change of scenery. Nothing exotic, somewhere where she could just blend in for a little while, keep her head down and just be.

-X-

It was Thursday when her plane landed, she'd already gotten 15 missed calls from her brother on the flight over, 20 angry text messages, and 5 very angry voice messages. She ignored them all, and the guilt quickly faded when she destroyed the sim card to the phone and left it in one of the hundreds of rubbish bins in the airport.

She ran out the double doors and quickly, ducking her head against the heavy down pour, hailed a cab. The first cab passed her spraying her in dirty street water, she grimaces but continues to try and hail a cab.

It took nearly a whole two minutes and by then she was practically soaked through, shivering against the chill she squeezed her one large suitcase into the back seat, settling in and slamming the door closed she places the small heavy duffle bag on her lap.

She turned to the cabbie and immediately wished she hadn't taken a cab, maybe rented a car instead. Something was wrong with this man, it wasn't the way he smiled too friendly at her, dark stone grey eyes watching her like a predator it's pray. It wasn't the sickly sweet way he tried to be polite it was just something about him screamed danger.

She huffed a small sigh, squaring her shoulders a little she quickly tells the cabbie the address and let's him fill the silence with his aimless prattle.

She would only nod and hum her acknowledgement politely, acting interested but merely watching London flash by the window. When she turns back to the front of the cab she can see the old man's eyes are watching her intently through the rearview mirror.

She realizes with a start that whatever he's saying requires an answer on her part, at first she thinks they've stopped and he's merely asking about the fare, but then she realizes the car is still going.

She forces an apologetic smile on her lips, "I'm sorry my mind was elsewhere. What did you ask?" she finally inquires her voice sweet.

The man also forces a smile, obviously taking it to heart that she hadn't been giving him the attention he felt he deserved. "I was just asking what brings you to London?" he finally allowed.

"Business" she decides with a small secretive smile.

"Ah" his head bobs about as he nods, "What kind of business?" he presses.

"Oh, antiques mostly."

"So your a collector then?" he continues acting nonchalant.

"Something like that" she nods, with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"What's that mean?"

Her eyes narrow dangerously, what a forceful little cabbie, couldn't he just be satisfied with small talk something about the rainy weather, or about the kids that are so fondly pinned to his dashboard.

She lets a soft smile slid across her lips, something to disarm him so when her venomous words strike it's a complete blind side, but then she hears the soft chime of a phone. She riffles through her duffle bag which sits securely in her lap, but then she remembers she no longer has a phone, so she looks sharply up at the cabbie.

"I think that's you" she points out politely, at first confusion crosses the man's face and then...something...something else, something like surprise with the briefest trace of amusement.

He doesn't answer, merely glances at the screen of a surprisingly pink phone. Hm, she didn't figure him the type. His eyes are once more flickering up to her, to notice that she's taken notice of his phone choice and he lets out a surprisingly vicious smile.

She turns to the window and notices how the sky has darkened, how the rain has stopped, and how the cab has parked on a side street. She looks around in confusion, her face cast in shadow by the building their parked next to, when she turns round to look out the back window there's a restaurant, two sets of eyes are on her and she quickly turns back to the cabbie.

"We've stopped?" she points out curiously, her voice low and her hand going for the concealed butterfly knife that she normally keeps on her person, only to realize she'd dumped that in a bin at the LA airport. Shit.

The cabbie turns slightly towards her, "Oh sorry dear, thought I'd take you on the scenic route let you get a feel for the city" he grins at her.

"That's sweet, but the address that I gave you will work just fine, thank you?" her voice is clipped, light and delicate as she forces herself to remain calm, she really didn't want to get dragged out into something having just arrived, that would cause such a mess.

The cabbie's smile is off almost angry, but he doesn't act on it, he merely bobs his head about once more as he throws the car into gear and takes off.

As she plays with the strap of her bag, her mind quickly memorizes the route they take whilst simultaneously processing the width and length of the slat between them. She briefly entertains the ideal of how she'd have to contort her body to get into the front seat if it came to a confrontation.

Before she could completely process her plan they rolled to a quick stop and she looks up at the tall building. Her brow furrows in confusion, what the hell was with this cabbie? She quickly pulls out the fare and hands it over, not before he grabs her wrist and holds her in place.

"It's okay _love,_ I know a lost cause when I see one" he tells her, his voice is low and menacing, showing the double meaning to his words. "Besides, I have a feeling we have a lot in common" he pulls her wrist sharply so she can see his face clearer.

Her smile is so calm, so eerily sweet his grip slightly loosens on her wrist and he draws back a little. "Tell me... How hard do you think it will be to learn how to drive without a hand?" she inquires innocently, her voice soft and child-like.

As if her skin is on fire he yanks his hand away a snarl playing at his lip. She spots a flash of something thin and cylindrical in his other hand? But before her mind can process this the door is ripped open and she is suddenly face to face with a towering figure.

He towers over her 5'4 frame. His limbs thin and lanky, smooth pale skin. Sharp angular features with high cheek bones, and straight nose. His icy blue eyes piercing and dangerous. Dark inky black curls across his delicately pinched brow.

He's handsome, she can appreciate that much. Seconds later another man skids to a halt next to the open door, his sandy blond hair cut short, strong tanned features and hazel eyes, a slight gait in his walk.

"It's not her!" the inky hair man spurts angrily, his feature's contorting as he quickly takes in her small willowy, hour glass frame. The pale skin barely touched by sun, the thin bands of muscles on her skeletal limbs. Her thin heart shaped face, with supple button nose. Wide innocent jade eyes, and full pale pink lips.

Her silvery blond hair, that looks eerily white in the pale light from the inside of the cab. How it normally falls in gentle ringlets and curls to her waist but is piled into a messy bun.

"How do you know?" the sandy haired man inquires curiously, also observing the stunning woman.

"Slight tan from a recent sunning, probably west coast, her teeth... American, she's just gotten in from the airport California, LA to be more precise. And don't even get me started on wrong gender!" the man tallied off irritably.

"I'm sorry and you are?" she raises a gentle eyebrow, her lips tugged into an amused smile.

"Oh we're the police!" he clumsily flashes her the badge, her expression is still unconvinced but she can't help the smile.

"And is there anything else I can help you _'officer's'_ with" she motions pointedly to where they stand, blocking her exit from the cab.

"Ah no! Welcome to London" they quickly move from her exit, and she practically jumps from the cab pulling her luggage with her. The cabbie turns to say something else, but she's already slammed the door shut.

-X-

_Alright hope that wasn't too terrible. Just a warning in advance it's going to be a slow start, in later chapters there will be more Sherlock & Company, but for now Lillian will have to suffice!_

_Read &Review,_

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, so I didn't mention this in the first chapter, probably should have but the __**rating is subject to change**__. I've also considered pairing my OC but it's a toss up. I can't decide, so I'm letting how the story plays out decide what I do, that or based off your reviews whichever comes first._

_This is more of a filler chapter because I'm trying to get the timelines to match up correctly for when the story REALLY get's started. It's a little blah, not one of my favorites, but hopefully it's entertaining. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with the BBC Sherlock Series. So forgive my use of the material. I do however own my OC's Lillian Glass and Jackson Da Notte, so no touchy! _

-X-

Her flat is rather large, top floor, very pricey. Two rooms, two baths, a kitchen and a living room. A small family should be living here not some small, single girl. The ceilings are high, vaulted just the way she likes it, one entire wall of the living room is made entirely of glass, but no other building is high enough to peer in.

It's empty right now, a little eerily especially when the wheels of her suitcase echo loudly throughout the home. It's dark but she doesn't turn on the lights, she merely stands in the doorway letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

She lets her hand trace the wall, counting and memorizing her steps. She passes the first bathroom, the first guest room directly across from this door. When she reached the master bedroom soft moonlight has bled through the thick clouds, it mixes with the bright street lamps below casting thick shadows across the room.

She sets the large suitcase and duffle bag down by the door, laying it on it's side she unzipped the suitcase propping it open by leaning the top against the wall. She pulls out a small mat, and a sleeping bag which she promptly unrolls onto the floor. Then she pulls out a thin speaker bar which she plugs into the wall closest to where she has set up her makeshift sleeping roll. She then pulls out an IPad and sets it up plugging it into the speaker.

Heavy organs, violins, piano and cellos, mixed with the heady sounds of electronic beats before fading into the soft murmurs of indie rock. She let the music pulsate around the apartment slipping off her shoes and socks, she padded around her room barefoot studying every inch of the room and committing it to memory before she settle back onto her bedroll falling into an uneasy sleep.

-X-

She likes to keep up on the new's, but seeing as she doesn't have a television it's a rather hard thing to do. It's earlier morning and she's still jet lagged. She knows she has to get up, but she can't. Lack of sleep and the lack of will to actual move from her cocoon of warmth is preventing her from being a functioning member of society.

So she picks up her IPad from the dock and shuffles through some online media outlets, hopefully something interesting will be there prompting her to get up to get coffee so her mind could fully comprehend the words on the page. Right nows it's just a jumble of letters that look vaguely familiar.

_'Man Involved In A Series of Forced-Suicide/Murder's, Shot and Killed!'_

She picks that story because she hasn't a clue what a Forced-Suicide/Murder is. She skims through the text, rereading a few lines when her brain decides to take a nap, and then finally towards the end it's revealed who the man is. A Veteran Taxi Driver. They show his picture at the bottom.

Lillian tilts her head to the side studying it for a moment, blinking a few times, rubbing at her eyes and then squinting at it. With a sigh she closes the IPad and rises to go make coffee, only to fall back down. She sit's on top of her bedding and frowns to herself, her legs feel like jello and she feels rather ill.

The Cabbie in the photo is unmistakable to the one that drove her home last night.

She's sick, she thinks... Or, maybe it's the bubbling anger and fear that have coiled in her belly. Yeah, that sound's more like it.

She's scared yes, despite her line of work years of experience have taught her to stay as far away as possible from the crazy ones, no matter how much cash they offer. It's usually the crazy ones that will get you caught, or worst your body in a ditch.

She's also angry. At herself, undoubtedly, because she had that feeling- the spine tingling, hair raising feeling and she still got in the cab. Why if it wasn't for the Not-likely-Cops that showed up she could be dead...or, hiding a body. There's always the outcome that she could have won.

She's no crime-fighter, her skills in combat are definitely lacking. As a thief your main goal is to avoid unnecessary risks. Confronting a killer is definitely considered an unnecessary risk. But from her years of pickpocketing she knew how to handle a bad pick, aim for the face or groin and don't stop running.

-X-

She gets a job as a waitress, working at a small corner cafe a few blocks from where she lives. It's a small little Mom and Pop place the owners a wrinkled married couple, their only staff member one of their many grandchildren. Recently, business had picked up and they were looking for someone to help pick up the slack.

She didn't need the stress, and despite the lack of 'extra' income she was well off money wise. But she did need a routine, she feared if she let herself get dragged into the monotony of a life without commitment she'd get bored, and when she got bored she got stupid.

It's what got her into this mess in the first place.

She doesn't start till the coming monday, so until then she busies herself with cleaning up the apartment until her furniture arrives. She spends one whole day cleaning, polishing, dusting, scrubbing, vacuuming, and mopping. It's a full day and that night it doesn't take her long to fall asleep.

-X-

"...And this is where all the silverware is, oh and did I mention where all the extra cups are?" the man murmurs thoughtfully to himself.

_'Yes, several times now'_ she wants to say, _'And five times about your cat, three about your neighbor, four about the bloody plates, and two times about the dress code.'_

She doesn't say it though, she bites her tongue and smiles brightly, nodding her head quickly. The woman who owns the cafe is a sweet old lady, her Grandson on the other hand is quite the bother.

"Well I think that's everything, if you need help with anything just ask Mary or I, or even Jim might know where it's at, did I forget to introduce myself, how rude I'm Stewart" he motion's towards himself with a grin.

_'Stewart'_ the name comes off her mental tongue like acid, it burns just to think about it. He's nice enough, a good two heads taller than her, his hair a trimmed dirty blond that falls into deep brown eyes, a charming little smile and a mess of freckles.

He's boyish, attractive in a way, but he leers at her too much, as if he's never been in the vicinity of someone of the opposite sex. It's unsettling to say the least. It's also in his speech, the pompous sneer in his tone. It's the tone that throws her off, makes her want to scream and remind him where he works.

Nodding once more she hums an agreement to keep from saying anything too shocking. He smiles tentatively, patting her shoulder with a soap wrinkled hand before heading off towards the front of the house for a smoke. Lillian sighs softly, playing with the hem of her white button up and smoothing the wrinkles in her black vest she sets off once more towards the kitchens to locate a few items that were left out in her tour.

-X-

_Alright, so I know it's short the next will be longer and that's where the real fun begins. I love feedback so please read and review!_

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	3. Chapter 3

_No reviews yet, a pity, but then again it is early so hopefully after this chapter there will be more of a buzz. Fingers cross! Okay, so in this chapter there's been a bit of a __**time jump**__. Please be aware of that, I can already tell at least one person won't read this and I'll be getting some kind of comment later on how the timeline doesn't match up. Ah, well, at least I'm prepared. _

_Anyway hope you enjoy, were finally getting into the good stuff!_

_Disclaimer: While I may dream of being involved in the inner-workings of the BBC Sherlock series, I'm truthfully not, so all rights are to their respective owners. I do, however, own my OC's so please respect that. Thank you!_

-X-

Dear Jackson, 

I'm okay, I thought that's what you might be wondering after all this time. Sorry about leaving so quickly and without saying goodbye. Kinda like the old days I guess, so hopefully it wasn't too much of a shocker. 

Anyway, I'm doing fine, got a nice little flat with a spare room. Maybe one day I'll tell you where I'm at, you can come and stay over. Of course, you have to promise not to lecture me, I can tell even now while your reading this you'll turn red, the veins will start twitching and you'll go tell your wife all about my misdeeds. And then when I see her again I'll have to get lectured from her as well.

I just wanted to tell you not to worry, I'm fine, haven't done anything particularly naughty in awhile. Kept my hands clean, found an honest job been working in a little cafe for a few months now. The couple that owns it are so adorable, they remind me of you and Eloise, it's comforting.

Still no friends yet. Wonder why that is? I've always found it particularly hard to connect with people when it's not part of the job. Tried to make nice with my coworker, didn't end to well, he's particularly touchy. I'd like to say I hit him, but I'm trying to be good here, so I haven't...yet.

Well, I have to get going, I love you kid. Say hi to Eloise and the kids!

Lily

She reads it, rereads it, spell checks it. Deletes and rewrites, the wording seems off, not her per say. Maybe too wordy. But how to phrase an entire 6 month's of ones life without giving too much away.

With a sigh she deletes it, cracking her knuckles and setting her brow she retypes out the letter and with a sigh sends it. She rises from the internet cafe chair and allows the next patron to take her seat. She picks up her coffee and heads out into the chilly November air, tugging her jacket closer to her frame.

Jackson, 

Not dead.

Lily

-X-

She knew it was going to be a bad day, from the moment she looked out her window and noticed the fat grey clouds looming above it was already an omen of the things to come.

It was just one of those days where nothing went right. This morning she slept past the alarm and after scrambling to get ready she left in such a hurry she forgot her umbrella. When she got to work she was soaking wet and 15 minutes late.

Half her customer's today were piss poor tippers, and on top of that one of her customers constantly flaunted his statue in front of her. As if she would drop her trousers for him in the middle of the restaurant if he told her one more time about the new art gallery he was currently curating.

It all grated on her already stretched nerves, so that night on her way home she detoured to the local pub, and sat on what seemed the only rickety stool in the whole pub, between two intoxicated and clingy men it only made things worst.

Four drinks in, and the straw that broke the camels back came in the form of a text message on her recently purchased phone. It was from of the many banks she had an account with, telling her that one of her relative's had tried to gained access into her account, but had been caught in the act and the appropriate measure's had been put into effect to transfer her money.

It wasn't earth shattering, her money was safe, and beside's it seemed Jackson wasn't aware this was her emergency fund account and she hadn't touched, hell seen, this money in years. But the fact he was digging, trying to find her by a display of force when she clearly wanted to be left the hell alone, well to reiterate it broke the camels back.

Tipsy as all hell, she staggered out of the bar and clumsily typed the name of that stupid gallery into her phone. Using the direction app she found it about twenty minutes from where she worked, making a pit stop at her locker in the cafe she pulled out a heavy duffel bag and tugged it over one of her shoulders.

When she reached the building, her mind was still under the influence of the potent beer. Blinking up at the building she couldn't help but grin. It was modest in size, grey, with large windows, a small privately owned gallery that boasted a few rare pieces which she couldn't wait to peruse.

A pen, a pad of sticky notes, her cell phone, a bobby pin and a rubber band; along with what little equipment she had in her bag. Well she'd broken into bigger builds with less, and she always loved a challenge.

-X-

The next morning she woke up face first in her bed, still fully clothed from the night before. The smell of alcohol, and sweat clinging to her like an unwanted perfume. Groaning she pushed herself up arching her back until in cracked. With a satisfied sigh she stumbles towards the kitchen for coffee, something to drive away the grogginess and pounding headache.

Stumbling around the kitchen she finally manages to start the coffee pot, she leans against the counter and presses her forehead to the cool marble. Absentmindedly switching the television on in the process.

She's not really listening to it, some news broadcast. She's more focused on trying to piece together some of her fragmented thoughts, something about sticky notes. Hmmm...

"...Police say that the vandal broke into the Gallery last night and labelled all of the artwork with sticky notes..."

Oh. Shit.

In an instant she's standing upright, starring at the television like a deer in headlights. A pretty brunette in on the screen, standing outside a building that seems vaguely familiar.

"...Nothing was taken and as we've been told the Police don't have many suspects or leads, but other than breaking and entering, they're quite puzzled onto what to charge the criminal with... as you can see using regular post-it notes the criminal labeled the paintings as either fakes, replicates, or originals. Many of these paintings insured for the full original price. Back to Thomas Deccan on what this will mean for the Computer Mogul if these allegations prove to have any merit..."

The television goes blank and she stares at it for a few minutes longer, catching something in the reflection of the television. She turns sharply, pulling a butcher knife from the sheather next to her at the same time.

There's an unfamiliar male figure sitting in one of the chairs at the far end of the room. And from the angle of the shadows, his feature's are well enveloped by the darkness, so she can't make his face. Shit. Shit. Shit. How long had he been there?

"Good Morning" the man greets pleasantly, he has a slight English Accent, tinged with something she can't place. She tries her memories to see if she can place the voice, geeze did he come home with her last night. Better yet how much does he know?

"Morning" she finds herself returning softly. "Coffee?"

He chuckle's a low, deep rumbling sound. "No thank you" he waves her off, she nods distractedly, hands fumbling with the pot as she keeps her eye on the man, and the knife firmly in her grip.

"How'd you get in?" she finally asks.

"You let me in, after I helped you home, you'd gotten lost I believe you said something about too much cobblestone, but I can't be sure" he teased.

Her lips quirk up and with her free hand she stirs in about three full teaspoons of sugar. "While that sounds like me..." she trails off amused, tilting her head to the side her smile is wide, forced. "I don't invite men back to my place unless I want something."

She grips the knife firmly in her hand, "But as I see your still in possession of your clothes, that wallet in your front pocket, and that gun your trying to conceal from me; well needless to say I didn't invite you in, so how'd you get in?"

She sips at the coffee, "Sure you didn't want any?" she asks lightly. She's being showy, it's what she does when she's nervous, she shows off. She becomes someone powerful and pompous and...not her. And yet, whenever the man twitches she can picture him pulling out the gun and laying her to waste. So she pushes down the rising panic that threatens to destroy her and plays cocky.

He's quiet for a moment, and then chuckles softly, "I let myself in" he finally sighs.

"Ah, see now that's more like it" she muses darkly, frowning into her mug. "Hope you didn't break the lock, it's a new place" she adds thoughtfully.

"For someone whose always so careful, you sure are reckless" he chuckles after a moment.

"Reckless? You said it yourself I'm careful, what's there to be worried about?" she hums lightly.

"So you admit to the incident at the gallery last night?"

"Now who said that" she murmurs lightly, "I was merely disagreeing with your statement you could have meant anything, I could have meant anything" she sighs.

"Touche" he chuckles back, "I loved your work in San Francisco last week, you beat me to it, not many do" he adds, "Though burning it out back did seem a tad over the top."

"I haven't a clue to what your talking about. But hypothetically if I did, I would tell you that maybe this brilliant thief was irritated that she (or he) put so much time into this particular robbery to find it all a sham, I mean gas isn't cheap, hypothetically of course" she replies, her voice revealing her exasperation.

"Hypothetically?" he chuckles.

"Of course, I would never admit to such a crime to someone I don't even know, you could be a cop, or worst Interpol, those men have absolutely no manners" she sniffs.

"Your right, how rude of me, my name is Jim Moriarty" he introduces quickly.

She blinks at him warily for a second before shrugging nonchalantly, "It's a pleasure I'm sure" she rolls her eyes, turning towards the fridge to pull out some eggs. "Lillian Glass" she adds.

"Not your real name I assume?"

"Why have you already looked me up?" she smiles over her shoulder.

"Is humility not an emotion in your repertoire?" he inquires lightly, she just smiles cheekily at him. Afraid her voice will crack if she speaks, because while it's a light statement it's also tense, and she can't help but think of that damn gun.

Thankfully he just sits there starring at her for a long moment, it's unnerving so she busies herself with pulling out a bowl to mix her eggs. Her hands are shaking, and she's glad he's so far away, any closer and he's bound to see.

"Why did you do it?" he finally asks.

"Do what?" she inquires absently, as she tries to balance the mess of pots without sending them clattering to the floor.

"Last night, at the gallery with the labels, why'd you do it? You could have easily stole one of the real ones and left, so why label them instead?" he inquires.

She freezes, rising she looks at him and blinks for a few seconds in surprise.

"Hypothetically?"

"Sure if it makes you feel better" he replies back in exasperation.

"I was drunk" she averts her eyes, cracking an egg over the bowl she focuses on anything but him.

"Liar."

"What?"

"You were tipsy, not drunk."

"This is hypothetical" she reminds him. "Wait how the hell would you know that?" she demands suddenly registering the information. Hell, how did he even know who she was, and where she lived.

"Your good, but like you said drunk" he reaches into his jacket pocket and she instinctively flinches. He pauses, chuckling he withdraws a photo. It's her, crouching down as she scribbles down FAKE on a green sticky note. CCTV footage is a little grainy, but it's clearly her.

"Tipsy" she defends weakly, though her effort to be funny is only half-hearted she can't help the bubbling panic that is now evident in her voice.

Shit. She'd missed a camera.

"Oh goody finally got your attention, your lack of self-preservation was rather startling, and I thought I had issues!" he chuckles brightly. "Well then, go on, do tell, no hypotheticals this time."

Her voice is weak and it shakes a little, "Hypothetically, because I could."

"What is it with you and not listening to me?" he sighs heavily, "While that was closer to the mark I don't think that's the real reason, so tell me, the truth. Why. Did. You. Do. It?" there's a sharp steely edge in his voice one that makes her pause and look up.

She blinks at him, once, twice, a third time, "It will sound stupid" she finally admits.

"Good, surprise me!" he chuckles.

She flushes only slightly, and then once more adverts her eyes, wringing her hands. "I'm trying to quit, ruining some else's day by revealing a Insurance scheme on a few fake paintings was a way to relieve stress so I _didn't_ steal a real one" she admits.

He doesn't reply, only sits there. "Of course Boss, on my way."

-X-

_Cliffhanger! Whaahahahaha! Who could it be! Guess! I always love guesses. Review while your at it! It would make me oh, so happy!_

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the BBC Sherlock series, all rights go to their respective owners. I just have creative reign over my OC's._

_Last time:_

_He doesn't reply, only sits there. "Of course Boss, on my way." _

_-X-_

This was not the answer she was looking for. Actually does that even count as answer, or even a response? "Excuse me?" she inquires awkwardly. And then he's rising, stepping into the light.

He's rather tall, thin but muscular. His limbs are tanned and scarred, he has a thin face with sharp feature's and a jagged scar on his chin that disappears down his neck and underneath the collar of his shirt. His bright blue eyes observe her impassively, and a limp unlit cigarette rests between his lips. Platinum blond hair is short, trimmed but also casual barely brushing his ears. He's rather handsome, in that exceptionally rugged way.

He hangs up the phone and slips the mobile into his pocket, taking off the little blue-tooth headset as well, it joins his phone in his pocket. "Miss Glass, my name is Sebastian, I am here as a mediator for Mr. Moriarty" he explains quickly.

She can only stare, mouth agape, "Mediator? You've got to be shitting me" she finally chokes out in surprise.

"Unfortunately not" Sebastian grins at her, "I've been asked to invite you to meet Mr. Moriarty in person, over dinner, he'd like to discuss with you a future...opportunity."

"Was that an interview, Sebastian?" she inquires curious.

He smiles softly, a foreign glint in his eyes, "Something like that."

"H'm" she mutters. "Well you'll have to pass on my sincerest apologies for me, but I don't go on blind dinner dates, I like to know my opposition thank you" she sniffs. "And I especially don't like it when someone has something over me, not exactly fair don't you think?"

This time it's his turn to stare, his expression shocked, she can tell he doesn't wear this expression often, it just doesn't look right on his stubbled face. "What?" he deadpans.

"N-O!" She repeats sharply, "I'll have to be one of the few who put my foot down, so no Sebastian, I won't go on some back alley date, to meet a man who can only introduce himself to me by way of 'mediator' and then vaguely threaten me with an incriminating photo" her grin is pleasant but inside she's a mass of seething anger, and absolute terror.

"So again, pass along my sincerest apologies, now if you'll excuse me I have work in an hour and I desperately need a shower, I can trust you can see yourself out as you saw yourself in" she forgets the bowl of eggs, she forgets the cup of coffee. She leaves her mess sprawled out on the countertop and disappears to her bedroom.

She thinks she hears him chuckle as she passes, but she brushes it off and barricades herself in her room with her 9mm pistol. When she hears the front door click shut she waits an extra five minutes before venturing out, pistol raised she searches the apartment but he's gone. So she locks the door and quickly cleans up her mess before retreating to the bathroom for a hot shower.

-X-

That day at work she's a little- okay, _really_ jumpy, she's waiting for the shrill sound of sirens or for the automatic spray of an AK-47 as gangsters drive by and shoot up the place. Instead it's a rather quiet day, the occasional customer, and only a small rush during lunchtime.

Around one an ambulance speeds past the cafe to a neighboring street, the sirens nearly give her a heart attack. She's so busy trying to find a way out of this hole she's dug herself in she walks around much of the day in a daze.

This 'Moriarty' was a troublesome character, he wasn't a cop. No, definitely not, that meeting would have ended much differently, probably in cuffs. Not an American, so not likely a Fed or some CIA spook, and most likely not Interpol, those men are too cocky for their own good. If he was Interpol they would have busted down her door with a small SWAT team just for the theatrics of it.

So that left everything Lillian feared, Criminal or Rival. Most probably one of the crazy ones as well, I mean who the hell hires a mediator?

It was just a little after lunch time when it happened, she was cleaning up a table after the previous guest, collecting the glasses and used silverware. She sweeps her sleeve over her brow, glad she's worn her hair up in a messy bun today. Because otherwise she would have torn it out of her scalp, tugging on it as she silently mulled over her conundrum.

"Lily?" she practically jumps out of her skin. She whips around quickly, Stewart is standing there wide eyed.

"Lillian" she corrects him curtly, flashing a tight lipped smile. Nervously, he shuffles but nods quickly, she reserves her nickname for family and friends, not asshole coworkers.

"There's a customer in my section requesting you, says he won't be served by anyone else" Steward shrugs, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point at the booth where a man sits, his back to her.

"Okay" she shrugs, "Can you finish up for me?"

He nods reluctantly, but eagerly finishes up the rest of the work as if this will impress her. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, and forcing a wide smile she approaches the table.

"Hi! I'm Lillian, how can I help you today?" she gushes enthusiastically. He's short, well maybe average for a man, but he's at least a foot or so taller than her. His brown hair short, and his dark onyx eyes bore into her.

His skin is pale, and contrast greatly with the black pinstriped suit that he wears, his tie a dark navy blue. It's an expensive suit, she recognizes it immediately as part of the Westwood collection, she bought one for Jackson one year for his birthday but it was grey; she knew the price and it wasn't some frivolous purchase.

"Why do you sound like that?" he demands curiously, blinking at her, resting his chin on his palm.

Her smile falters for second, before she forces it back once more onto her lips. "Can I take your order?" she inquires still forcing the cheer into her voice.

"Tea and a water, sparkling not tap, and a vegetarian omelet without the spinach, a side of toast lightly browned with strawberry jam, and make sure the hash browns are twice cooked I like them crispy" she nods at the correct places and turns to leave.

"Aren't you going to write that down?" he demands curiously.

She glances at the notepad in her apron and then back at him. "Sure" she grits out forcing another smile, she yanks her notepad out of the apron pouch, scribbling it down quickly. She doesn't tell him that she could recite the order backwards for him, without the note pad. Because that usual ends up leading to a competition as he tries to challenge her memory skills. She's to busy worrying about this whole 'Moriarty' mess to get challenged today.

"Do they make you speak like that? Because it's rather annoying and the smiling, it's so...creepy" he points out bluntly. "And I mean I thought I was scary, who knew smiling that much-" he trails off mocking a shiver.

She deadpans, and glances around to make sure no one is within hearing distance. Thankfully Stewart isn't lurking around, having disappeared to the kitchens to drop off the dishes.

"Do I know you?" she demands sharply, dropping her peppery voice and smile.

"Ah that's better!" he grins at her, "We met earlier, well more like _talked_ earlier..." he trails off suggestively.

She catches immediately, and curses quietly. "What do you want?" she demands, narrowing her eyes.

"Well you said you wouldn't sit down with me till, oh how did you put it? _'Know your opposition.'_ H'm did I say that right?" he grins at her.

"Did you overhear that?" she demands heatedly, flushing a little in embarrassment.

"No, but Sebastian can be very descriptive when he needs to be" he replies glancing out the window towards the blond sitting in a black sedan just outside smoking. "You see I was rather irritated when you turned me down" he adds, suddenly eerily serious.

If she had half-a-mind she would take his tone serious, but something about the man immediately infuriates her. "I'm so sorry!" she mocks lightly, "Did I upset your delicate senses?" she muses brightly.

He glowers at her, but just like that his mood shifts and he suddenly looks amused. He smiles, "Well you've met me and it's settled now, because I've got this lovely little place in mind."

"Obvious you didn't listen well enough, I don't like having something held over my head" she seethes angrily.

He just blinks at her, by expression she's waiting for him to yawn, but he doesn't only stares. She takes a deep soothing breath and resists the urge to hit this man in the face.

"Fine!" he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the picture from earlier and a thumb drive.

She quickly snatches it up and shoves it in her apron, glancing around nervously. He's practically laughing at her, "Those are the only copies, the Gallery's system had some kind of odd malfunction last night, rather odd, but well can't be helped, so like I was saying dinner-?"

"I getting the sense someone didn't say _no_ to you enough when you were younger" she grumbles. He doesn't have anything on her any more so she feel more confident they she probably should.

He narrows his eyes once more, and this time she can't help the small shiver. "I don't get said no to period" he corrects quietly.

"Glad I could be your first!" she quips before she can stop herself.

He blinks at her, as if taken aback, before he bursts into soft chuckles. "I like you!" he chuckles.

She opens her mouth to spit something, feeling her cheeks are a little warm, but his phone rings loudly interrupting them with some cheery jingle that she doesn't expect.

He holds up a finger to her, and she gapes at it. How freaking dare he! "What?" he spits angrily into the phone, and she jumps in surprise at the venom in his voice. "What do you _fucking_ mean am I busy?" he hisses.

He glances at her, and mouths an apology, rolling his eyes as he motions to the phone. "Yes, that's fine, yes, yes, I said yes didn't I?" he demands in a snarl, "Get it done, or I'll deliver you to your family in _pieces!"_ he threatens, his voice low.

He hangs up then, and lets out an exaggerated groan. "I guess this will have to wait, I hope it's not to late to cancel my order?" he mocks, looking up at her innocently, once more all smiles and sly wit. Jesus was this man bipolar?

"Business then?" she raises a brow at him.

"Ugh!" he groans, "How could you tell?"

She can only stare at him, as if trying to figure him out, his motives, his mood swings, but he's all over the place. She can't seem to get a good read of him.

She's so busy trying to think it through she misses him standing till he's only a good few inches in front of her, sliding what looks to be a business card into her front apron pocket. "Here's my number, I already have yours, I'll be in contact to give you all the details for dinner" he winks at her, and then he's out the door.

She stands there for a long moment absolutely stunned before she turns towards the kitchens and quits on the spot, not even waiting long enough to collect her last pay check or properly explain to the old woman and her husband the real reason behind her sudden departure.

-X-

That night she considers packing her bags and moving, she's not one for close calls and that was as close as they comes. Her work life and her personal life are separate for a reason, she doesn't leave behind trails, and a sketchy guy in a fancy suit coming into the cafe threw up red flags on all fronts. Someone, _Stewart_, was bound to remember him and her together, his particular request was bound to leave an impression.

And if the guy was into the kind of shit she expected she was likely to get caught up in whatever mess surrounded the man, she wasn't fond of the ideal of being collateral damage.

But, she likes her apartment, she likes London, hasn't been here in ages. And it's not like she has much options, sure she could call her banks, relocate her funds once more, move to another location, maybe something exotic. But it's all so tedious.

And so against better judgement she decides she's going to get an idea of the situation before she makes a rash decision. Hell, for all she knew maybe this Moriarty character was a small time gangster with dreams of becoming the next big thing.

She throws on something casual; jeans, a silvery blouse, and a thin grey sweatshirt beneath a black peacoat with wide sleeves. She throws her hair up into a tight bun, tucking the strands beneath a dark beanie, and throws on a pair of false glasses. She throws the hood up, slides on a pair of grey chucks and wanders out into the street, eyeing it suspiciously she looks for any nondescript cars before hailing a cab.

She pulls out her phone and calls up someone who might have an understanding of the situation, "Hello sweetie!" she mocks her voice sickly-sweet, "We have to talk, I need a favor!"

-X-

_Just __**REVIEW**__! Please, I beg of you!_

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	5. Chapter 5

_So thanks a ton to Celes Warren and RoseOfLannister, for reviewing. As well as all the new story followers I picked up. Honestly, thank you guys so much! You make posting worth it._

_Alright, his whole scene takes place during "A Scandal in Belgravia," some of the details about the episode have been rearranged to fit better in with the story. It should only be minor changes, hopefully nothing to drastic. If so please tell me and I'll do my best to either explain the change, or fix it all together._

_Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock. I do own Lillian and Jackson. Thanks._

-X-

Her assistant opens the door, a thin pale woman with a severe look and a high pony-tail. "She's in her room getting ready, says she'll be with you in a moment" the assistant ushers her to the living room. The woman leaves and shuts the door quietly behind her, Lillian almost expects the click of a lock, but it never comes.

Lillian takes a seat on the plush white sofa, and then starts to fidget twining her fingers together, tapping her foot. And then she see's it, a little flicker, it's a small thing. But then again it's the small things that count, that have always counted, if you don't notice the little things you don't belong in her business.

The large glass mirror above the mantle of the fireplace titled a degree or two off center. She approaches hesitantly, casting a glance at the door. She touches the cool glass and pulls it out a little peering behind the mirror, she smiles.

"My god!" a voice chortled behind her, "You just can't resist the temptation can you!"

Lillian smiles softly, and eases the mirror back into place, "Back up to your old tricks then Irene, what would a girl like you need with a hidden safe like that?" she inquires curiously.

Irene stands there in her magnificent sculpted beauty, Lillian's envious of that how the woman can pull off looking like a movie star without putting much effort into it. Even though Irene wears only a thin black silk robe Lillian feels underdressed.

"Oh you know this and that" Irene sniffs dismissively, perching on one of the white chairs with a serene smile. "What's with the glasses?" she adds curiously.

Lillian doesn't reply merely slips them off and into her pocket, flushing. "Booby trapped I assume?" Lillian wonders aloud, retaking her seat on the couch and away from Irene.

Irene's eyes widen slightly, and she mocks a frown. "How'd you know?" she demands lightly.

Lillian smiles back in response, "All your other safe's were, why break habit now" Lillian grimaces as she remembers past experiences with Irene.

This time it's Irene's turn to smile, and she nods in thought. "Ah yes, the good old days, when all there was to worry about was a good thief or an ill-timed cop" Irene remarks fondly.

Lillian can't help but nod in agreement, but then she pauses. "Is there something else to be worried about now?"

Irene's expression immediately darkens. "Nothing you need to worried about" she finally concedes, "Just some misplaced...investment" she settles on the word, but her expression is of distaste, almost as if she's tasted something sour.

And then she's all smiles again, distantly Lillian can't help agree with Moriarty, smiles were really creepy when timed right. "Enough off this kind of talk, tell me love what is it that you need, it sounded important over the phone?" Irene inquires.

"It could be" Lillian hedges slowly, "But then again it could be nothing, I just want to check with someone who usually has all the gossip, and of course your name was the first I thought of" Lillian shrugs.

"I'm so glad you thought of me! But really I'm nothing special" Irene murmurs. Lillian wants to glare at the woman, everyone whose anyone on the wrong side of the law knows Irene Adler was the one to talk to when it came to information. She practically monopolized the information game single handedly, then again thats who she mostly 'played' with, men in the information business.

"Alright, tell, tell whats this about?"

Lillian pauses for a moment, "Have you ever heard of a man named Jim Moriarty?"

And like that her mask is shattered, Lillian never seen the real Irene before, the one that wasn't all smiles and sex appeal. The real Irene is wide-eyed and rather surprised, a former shade of her previous self. "W-what?" her voice cracks, and then she's quickly reshuffling her mask so she's suddenly cold and calculating Irene.

"Jim Moriarty? Have you heard of him? The man's practically having me followed" Lillian pouts.

Irene watches her for a long moment, as if to see she's telling the truth. "Stay away from him" she suddenly intones darkly.

"Whoa!" Lillian blinks in surprise, "That bad?" she squeaks.

Irene only nods solemnly, turning towards the window, and then it's Lillian's turn to slip her mask she gapes at the woman. "Holy shit Irene!" she splutters in surprise. "Tell me you didn't!?" she demands.

Irene and Lillian were anything but friends, they bickered constantly and were often at each others throat. Lillian made it a game to break into at least one of Irene's safes whenever the woman was within driving distance. And Irene constantly dropped hints to Interpol about Lillian's next big theft. But despite all this, they were colleagues, at times enemies, and no one fucked with your enemy.

"It couldn't be helped, he's a rather...persuasive being" Irene whispers quietly.

"What does he have on you?"

"A lot" Irene answers simply, no explanation needed.

Lillian pauses for only a beat, "Shit okay let me think! I can move around some money, have a plane ready in the hour, I'll have to find somewhere to put you..." Lillian trails of quietly, her voice quick, thoughtful.

Irene turns on her in wide eyed surprise, "Lily, that's sweet but-"

"No buts Irene, if he's this dangerous then-"

"No Lily!" Irene interrupts sharply, "He _is_ dangerous, a certified genius and ridiculously over powered, I wouldn't make it and neither will you, so if my word means anything, anything at all Lillian Glass you stay the hell away from James Moriarty" she warns sharply.

Lillian can only nod at the sudden fervor in the woman's eyes. She sighs sinking back into the couch and resting her head against the back. It's quiet for a long moment and they sit in companionable silence, "I miss the old days" Lillian finally speaks.

Irene chuckles and can only nod, there's a knock on the door. The Assistant sticks her head in and Irene looks up at her expectantly. "Your next appointment is here" she remarks, before quickly retreating.

"Ugh!" Lillian jokes with a smile playing at her lips, "You're insatiable!" she teases.

Irene can only roll her eyes, "It's not that kind of appointment" she defends with a pout, and then her lips quirk up a little, "At least it won't start out as that kind of appointment, I'm hoping it turns around towards the end" she muses.

"You always were persuasive" Lillian rises and stretches, she makes to leave probably out the back door, maybe take a side alley. She can't go out the front, not when there's even the slimmest possibility she could run into the 'potential client.'

"Will you stay?" Irene inquires suddenly.

Lillian turns on her, one brow arched in suspicious. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me" Irene snorts, and then rises, "I still want to discuss this whole Moriarty business with you, get it out of that pretty little head of yours" she rolls her eyes.

"I wasn't thinking about it-" Lillian defends quickly.

"Oh Lillian for a thief you're a terrible liar, of course you were thinking about it,_ it's you_, you like the danger and the car chases and gun fights that are only in the movies, you always have... even in the old days" Irene walks her out into the hall.

The assistant is at the door intercom a smile on her lips, she winks at the passing ladies, as they ascend the stairs. Lillian only catches a glimpse of the mans face over the small monitor, he's bleeding a bit, but his face is unmistakable.

It's the fake cop, he's yammering about a mugging, begging to be let in. And the assistant is trying to buy time for them to get out of sight by listing off reasons the man shouldn't enter.

"Do you know him?" Lillian pauses on the second to last step pointing towards the door.

"I know of him, I have yet to meet the man himself, though, I've heard wonderful things" Irene winks at Lillian and they finish their climb.

"On my first night he flashed a badge at me, pretty sure it was real, but he doesn't look like a Gregory Lestrade to me" Lillian muses.

Irene's eye twinkles, "Gregory Lestrade, h'm? No, that's Sherlock Holmes."

Lillian pauses just outside Irene's door, "Get out of here!" she blinks at Irene in surprise, "Your letting that guy in here?" she demands in surprise.

"Of course, couldn't you tell? The poor man was just mugged!" Irene mocks a smile at her lips.

"Oh for pity sakes Irene, you remember Travis, small bloke, weird teeth" Lillian demands, stepping into Irene's room as the woman disappears into the closet.

"Ugh! He was a gross one, but he paid well" Irene calls back from the depth of her closest. Below they can hear the door open, he staggers inside and his voice moves away as he's ushered into the living room, another bloke on his heels talking about how he's a doctor and saw the whole thing.

"Yeah well he's not going to be a client anytime soon, he's up in Pentonville serving a life sentence after getting caught by that guy, something about the kind of cigarette ash that was found at the crime scene, I don't know it was some ridiculously small detail that _that guy_ picked up on!"

Irene snorts, "Which is why I won't be giving anything away that I don't want him to know!" Irene replies back brightly, she steps out of her closet naked.

"Oh for pity sakes Irene!" Lillian slaps a hands over her face, and massages her temple. "I give up!"

"Finally, I was waiting for you to shut up, your voice can be rather tiresome after awhile" Irene jokes back and makes for the door. "This will only take a moment and then we can get back to this talk, I have a good many things to tell you that will scare you away for good!" she calls over her shoulder

Lillian shakes her head, "Excuse fucking me for caring!" she snarks after the woman. She wants to say other things, like how she doesn't need Irene to be her mother, because she didn't have one before so why get one now. She also wants to tell her to mind her own business, as well as kick bloody Sherlock Holmes out of her house so they can make for the airport. But Irene's gone, in all her perfect glory. Lillian can hear her voice downstairs and by then Lillian already knows whose won this fight.

"And I'm reckless" she grumbles seating herself at Irene's vanity.

-X-

_**Read**__ & __**Review!**__ If you care! Which you do, so you will!_

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm sorry I didn't upload yesterday, I've come up with a bad case of the common cold. It's absolute murder! And the medication has me all...well...loopy is an understatement. Anyway, super huge thanks to all those who __**reviewed,**__ or have started to follow this story, or to those who have made this their favorite! So THANK YOU! You are the people I write for!_

_Remember this is a little out of character, as well as some of the details have been changed. Hopefully, I kept in the spirit of things and everyone enjoys this chapter!_

_Disclaimer: I DON'T own BBC's Sherlock, as much as I might fancy the show it shall never happen. I neither profit, nor make any assumptions about the show (or authors/creators) themselves. I merely interpret the story. I DO, however, own my OC's, which took a lot of precious time to create, so respect! No stealing!_

-X-

It's sometime later, by then Lillian has set about trying to find a safe that Irene might have hidden away up here. But, after rummaging through most of Irene's closet, reorganizing a few of Irene's neat rows she surrenders.

She doesn't find anything, so the downstairs safe is the only one. H'm peculiar. She doesn't have long to dwell on it as she receives a text, distracting her.

She flops down onto Irene's bed, and lays on her stomach across the plush bedding. She turns the phone on quickly, and skims through the text.

_10:00. Friday night. Launceston Place._

_J.M._

She glowers at the phone as if it will spontaneously combust. The assistant, Kate, is at the door with a tray of tea, she sets it on bed and smiles brightly at Lillian, fussing with a few things before making for the door.

_I can't. Busy. _

_Lillian_

The phone doesn't beep again, so she settles it aside, smiling to herself in victory.

_Ring...Ring...Ring..._

She stares at the phone in wide eyed amazement, Kate looks up at her with a pleasant smile. But her eyes practically demand that Lillian pick up the device, to stop the annoying ringing. So, reluctantly, Lillian smiles back and picks up the phone rolling onto her side so her backs to the assistant.

"Hel-"

_"Doing what?"_

She blinks at the phone glancing at the number. It's blocked, of course. So once more she presses the phone back to her ear, "I'm sorry?" she tilts her head to the side in confusion.

There's a long sigh, almost exasperation, _"Busy doing what, Lillian?"_ he speaks slowly as if talking to a child.

She glowers, though he can't see her expression, "I don't see how that's any of your business, **James"** she retorts back quickly.

_"As it's interfering with our dinner plans, it is my business, and don't call me that!"_ he adds poutingly.

"Our dinner plans?" she gawks, "You mean the dinner plans you made without asking me? Well excuse me for not moving around my day so I could entertain you, I didn't have the luxury of choosing around my schedule!"

_"Fine. Where are you now? I'll pick you up, we'll go tonight" _he replies easily.

She is abruptly sitting up, "Wha- uh, no!" she stammers, throwing a nervous glance at the assistant who is watching her curiously.

_"I was asking out of courtesy, Lillian, I know where your at."_

Her eyes narrow, "So you are having me followed!"

_"Too much effort, I'm just triangulating your current position from the local cell towers, you've been on long enough"_ he snorts.

_Oh your right what was I thinking, because that's less effort,_ she wants to scoff. Instead: "I said I'm busy why can't you just leave it at that!" she snaps angrily.

_"Fine I'll leave it be, just tell me what plans I'm interrupting?"_ his voice is calm, even, and that infuriates her even more. Why should he be the calm one!?

She flushes, and is glad he's not here to see, "Does it matter, the point is-"

_"That you don't really have any plans, h'm curious, are you __trying__ to avoid me Lillian?"_

She's about as red as a tomato now, "No!" she defends quickly.

_"So then you are free?"_

"What no I-"

_"Good, I'll pick you up at about 9:30, that should give us enough time"_ he muses.

At that exact moment the fire alarm goes off screeching loudly. Kate gives out a little scream before she's quickly silenced, her unconscious body hits the floor hard. Lillian spins around towards the door, wide-eyed in surprise and clutching tightly to the phone.

There are four men, three of them only just glance at her. They make for the door, and there's a gun shot, the screeching stops.

The fourth man goes to the door and peers out, nodding to someone she can't see, he steps back into the room and closes the door. There are raised voice downstairs, and a thrill of panic shoots through her in that moment.

He's a big trimmed brunette, in a black shirt and suit. His brown eyes narrow menacingly and he's stepping towards her. She takes a step back and the back of her knees collide with the bed.

_"Am I interrupting something?"_ Moriarty purrs over the phone, obviously amused by his mistaken assessment of the situation.

"No, but I'm going to have to go, going to need both hands for this" she replies, it's meant to be a joke, but her voice is too tight.

_"Is everything alright Lillian?"_ he inquires, suddenly eerily serious.

"It could be better, I'm going to hang up now Jimmy" it's meant to push his buttons, maybe he'll take it as a joke, maybe he won't. But at least her voice doesn't shake all that much.

Lillian scrambles across the bed, trying to put something between herself and the menacing man. But he's quicker he grabs her ankle and is once more dragging her back across.

She gasps in surprise and begins to kick out, he grunts and wrestles to grab her other ankle. "Get the hell off me!" she snaps angrily. She swings her fist around and manages to connect with his right cheek, his head snaps to the side and he spits a snarl.

_"Lillian, don't you dare hang-"_ his sharp voice is cut off as the phone is wretched from her hand and thrown to the ground, shattering on impact. The man swings his fist across her face, momentarily stunning her, her cheek burns and her lips definitely split. Hopefully it won't bruise, it's hard to find a job with a battered face, people usually assume the worst.

Somewhere downstairs there are a series of gunshots. Lillian's mind vaguely registers it, and worry for Irene quickly flashes through her. It's pushed to the back of her mind when the man's hands wrap around her throat, and slowly begin to suffocate her.

She struggles swinging her hands towards his face, using her nails to dig in. But he only squeezes tighter and leans away, so her small arms only batter uselessly against his upper arms and chest. Her nails barely leaving a dent along his neck. So, she panics with one hand she tugs desperately at his hands, trying to loosen them if only a little to allow the oxygen she desperately needs.

Her other hand flails about on the bed, grabbing for anything that might help. Black is hedging her vision and she's beginning to feel light headed.

The hand that wrestles with his own, flops uselessly to the bedside. Shit. _Shit!_ **_Shit! _**She could not die like this!

Her hand finally finds the polished silver handle of the tray. Dumping the contents, she swings the tray around and smashes him with all of her might over the head.

The hands disappear and she lays there for a moment, taking a loud gasping breath. She rolls onto her side and gently cradles her sore neck, she blinks back the darkness and tries to calm her heavy breathing. The room doesn't stop spinning, and she tries to will the space around her to stay still, if only for a moment.

The man is on the ground pressing one palm against the bloody welt that's formed on the side of his head, blood dripping heavily down one side of his face. She sits up her limbs shaky, she drags the bloodied tray to her. Leaving a bloody trail across the fine white linen.

He sits up and glowers at her, opening his mouth to probably yell at her. He never gets a chance to speak, she's swings the tray around this time with more force.

There's a loud hollow _thunk_ and the dented bloody tray slips from her grasp and she collapses into a heap on the ground.

She's shaking, but she's sure it's from the adrenalin. Her chest heaves with her breaths, and she can't seem to focus, she blinks hard trying to fight back the rising panic.

She can hear footsteps, she can hear voices. But her eyes are focused solely on the bloodied man in front of her. He's splayed out awkwardly like a rag doll, her last hit had struck him hard in the face.

His nose gushes blood down his chin, his lip is split, and there's going to be a nasty bruise that trails up the right side of his face. She focuses in on his chest, crap is he even breathing? Is he dead? Did she kill him?

"...she's just out cold." It's a man's voice. Shit! Are they back? She can't bring herself to move, the panic has her frozen in place.

She sees feet, a pair of black pants, and worn black shoes. They walk right past her and towards the bathroom, peering inside and then freezing at the threshold.

Another pair of feet appear in her line of vision, this time in tan trousers. He's kneeling in front of her, she's sure of it. Oh god! Where the hell was Irene, was she dead?

"Oh god knows, she's use to that!" Irene purrs in response to the man's statement. Oh thank heavens, she's not dead!

"Miss... are you alright?' someone touches her shoulder, it's the man.

She jumps and quickly scrambles away, backing up until she hits the bed. Wide eyed she finally manages to drag her eyes away from the 'corpse' and observes the room. There's a sandy haired man kneeling a few feet away from her, eyes cautious, smile friendly. So he's the one that grabbed her.

Then there's Sherlock Holmes, and Irene. Irene whose coming towards her worry evident on her face. Irene whose wearing an unfamiliar coat, but looking relatively fine.

"It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you" the sandy haired man speaks slowly, jeeze! Why is everyone doing that to her today?!

Irene's in front of her, gently clasping her shoulders. "Is...is he-?"

"Dead" Irene finishes for her quickly, she casts a glance at the sandy haired man who goes to her attacker's side and checks for a pulse. His eyes meet Irene's and he quickly shakes his head. "No, not dead, just unconscious. You did good Lily!" Irene soothes, pulling the small girl in for a quick hug.

"Who- where- what's going on?" Lillian finally manages. "Whose coat are you wearing? Why...I..." she can't seem to focus. Jesus! Why can't she focus?!

The sandy haired male rises, "There's a backdoor John, go check!" Irene orders swiftly.

John looks at her with a raised brow, before casting a glance towards Sherlock. Sherlock nods, tilting his head forward ever so slightly, and John's off disappearing out of the bedroom.

"Well, your very calm!" Sherlock notes. "Well your booby trap did just kill a man!" he adds, upon seeing the quizzical look on Irene's face.

"Well" she shrugs, "He would have killed me, it was...self-defense in advance!" she smiles, before turning back towards Lillian, placing both her thin pale hands on her shoulders.

"Lillian, I'm going to need you to pull yourself together" Irene snaps quickly, "Do you remember what I told you?" she demands.

"I...uh..." Lillian blinks up at her in confusion. When? What was she talking about?

Irene slaps her hard across the face, Lillian blinks then turns back towards Irene with wide eyes. There's a long pause of silence, even Sherlock can't find the proper words to interject into this situation, and then, "You hit me!" Lillian accuses heatedly, blinking.

Irene rolls her eyes, her ruby lips twitching into some semblance of a smile, "You were falling apart on me, it was rather damsel-in-distress of you!" Irene mocks.

"Shut the hell up!" Lillian snaps back, swatting at the woman until Irene rises and goes to mess with a drawer in her vanity. "I almost got choked out by some goon in a suit, at your _freaking_ house _thank you very much!_ I have the right for a few moments of 'falling apart' as you so kindly put it!"

"Who the hell are these guys anyway?" she demands of Irene, when no one responses to her small rant.

Irene hesitates, casting a glance at Sherlock and then turning back to address Lillian. "Friends of an...old...clients..." she finally settles slowly.

Lillian cradles her face, with a groan. "Oh for pity sakes Irene! What the hell did you do this time?"

"The usual!" Irene grins back brightly at her. "Now," Irene starts her face suddenly serious, "Do you remember what I told you earlier?" Irene demands.

Lillian stares at her for a long moment, "Do I remember the particular details of a conversation that happened moments before I almost got strangled to death? _Really,_ Irene, is that what your asking me?" Lillian deadpans, her face suddenly blank.

"Oh for the love of-" Irene grumbles, Sherlock is trying to walk around her. Probably to get a better look at the small girl who seems to have an good understand, and knowledge, of the mysterious dominatrix whose perked his interest.

Her catches only a glimpse of the pretty pale-blond on the floor, his memory immediately connecting her to a suspect he chased across London in a cab. Only to learn it wasn't her he should have been chasing.

"You-!" he doesn't get out more than that because suddenly there's a sharp pain shooting up his right arm.

He let's out a surprised gasp, and stumbled away from Irene. He yanks the needle from his arm casting it to the ground, "Wha-what is that?" he demands, blinking hard through the sudden fog that jumbles his thoughts.

Irene doesn't respond, but slaps him hard across the face. With the drug now affecting his motor skills and balance, the force of the slap sends him sprawling out on all fours on the ground. "Give it! Give it too me!" she snaps angrily, holding out one of her thin hands.

"Holy shit Irene!" Lillian gasps in shock, shakily jumping to her feet. "What did you just do?!" she demands, but Irene ignores her.

"Give it to me!" Irene demands once more this time her voice much more calm, demanding.

"N-no!" Sherlock protests, his words slightly slurred together as he struggles to rise.

"Give it to me!" Irene demands once more. Lillian's confused until she sees the cell phone clutched tightly in one of Sherlock's hands.

"No!"

"Oh, goodness sakes!" Irene mutters, she turns around and then spots the riding crop on the vanity. She lunges for it but Lillian's faster she snatches it up and holds it away from Irene.

Irene's eyes narrow dangerously, "Lillian, this is important, you have to understand that! Give it to me!" she snaps, heatedly.

"What are you doing Irene?" Lillian questions quietly.

"Do you remember what I told you earlier?" Irene's eyes are wide, desperate.

And then it hit's Lillian, their earlier conversation, all about Jim Moriarty and what he had on Irene. Did she perhaps have something on him? Something that was keeping her alive? Is that what was on the phone?

Her momentary pause has Irene yanking the riding crop from her grasps, she spins around and smacks Sherlock with it once, twice, three times.

And then the phone skids across the polished dark wood of the floors. He lays on his back, gasping for breath, his body involuntarily convulsing as the drug works it's way into his system.

"Ah thank you dear!" she snatches up the phone, quickly unlocking it to scan for any damage it might have gained in this small confrontation, "Now tell that sweet little posh that the picture are safe with me!" she locks the phone and stares down at him with a soft smile.

"Not for blackmail, just for insurance!" she pockets the phone, and turns toward's Lillian with a wink. "Beside's I might want to see her again!"

Sherlock groans and goes to rise, "Oh! no, no, no, no!" she chides, pressing the riding crop against his adam's apple until his head once more connects with the cool wood. "It's been a pleasure, don't spoil it!" she gently runs the crop down the side of his face.

"This is how I want you to remember me!" she grins, "The Woman who beat you! Goodnight, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!"

She's backing away toward's Lillian, she spins around and swings the riding crop around so it's pointed dangerously close to Lillian's throat. Lillian pauses and stares at her for a moment, "It was good of you to stop by, next time I promise we'll have that chat, without all the drama" Irene muses softly.

"Irene" Lillian starts slowly, "What are you doing?"

There's a moment, where Irene looks suddenly sad, her grip loosens only slightly on the handle of the crop and she stares at Lillian with those big, sad brown eyes. The moment passes as quickly as it comes. She suddenly sex appeal and smiles again, "Stay safe Lily, I'd hate to attend your funeral!" she grins.

She's spinning towards the bathroom door. "Jesus! What are you doing?" the blond's reentered the room, he's rushing toward's Sherlock.

"He'll sleep for a few hours, make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit, it makes for a very unattractive corpse!" she's at the bathroom window. Sitting the sill, her legs curled up to her chest, feet perched on the lip of the claw-foot tub.

She meets eyes with Lillian and smiles, before turning back towards the doctor.

"What's this? What did you give him?" John demands, kneeling next to the convulsing body, "Sherlock?!" he calls out in frantic surprise.

"He'll be fine! I've used it on loads of my friends!" Irene rolls her eyes at his dramatics.

He ignores her, grabbing his friends shoulders so he can get a better look at his face, his pupils to be exact. "Sherlock?" he calls again. "Sherlock? Can you hear me?"

No response.

"You know I was wrong about him" her voice floats above his head, he rises and turns towards her, fist clenching and unclenching. She meets his gaze, unflinchingly, "He did know where to look?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The key code to my safe" she explains. The safe. The words flip around in Lillian's head, he broke into her safe, how? So quickly? He had to have had the passcode, but...how'd he know? And the safe. Is that what was in the safe? The phone? What the bloody hell was going on?

"What was it?"

Irene smiles her cheshire smile, looking at Sherlock whose rolled his head around to stare up at her. "Shall I tell him?" there are sirens outside and Lillian is suddenly panicking. _Police_, shit police. "My measurements" she grins and then she's gone, rolling out the window and disappearing all together.

Sherlock's head hit's the floor and he starts convulsing. John's slightly stunned, he rushes to the window, Lillian see's Sherlock has passed out, but he begins to vomit. She rushes to him, and rolls him onto his side just in time for the bile to hit the floors and not his face or clothes.

She breaths a soft sigh of relief, she's at least saved him from choking to death. John's back at Sherlock's side, eyeing her warily.

"Your a friend of Irene's?" he asks, as he goes about checking Sherlock's pulse and pupils.

"Not at the moment" Lillian admits, unconsciously rubbing soothing circles onto the detective's back.

The front doors busted in and Lillian's rising, wiping her fingerprint from the handle of the tray with her shirt, and then she collects the broken remnants of her phone. The man watches curiously, but doesn't make a move to stop her, too busy taking care of the convulsing mass of spidery limbs and curly midnight hair in his arms.

"POLICE!" someone announces loudly downstairs.

"And that's my cue!" Lillian makes for the same window Irene disappeared through, she casts a glance back at the two men on the floor. "I'm...I'm so sorry, I didn't know she was going to do that" she admits softly.

She doesn't hear his reply because she throws herself out the window and onto the little side alley, blending with the crowd she pulls the collar of her jacket up to hide the forming bruise on her neck, and licks away at the blood that's on her lip. She keeps her head down, and slides the false glasses on, and disposes of the ruined phone into two separate trash cans, before turning east to head home.

_"Dammit Irene, what did you get me into?"_

-X-

_Yeah! Chapter 6 done! Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to REVIEW!_

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	7. Chapter 7

_My goodness I'm am soooo sorry for the delayed publishing of this chapter. I wouldn't say I'm dying but this cold is pretty close to it. I know this chapter is short and I really hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me, I promise the next upload will be longer! Please, don't forget, I'm aware the timeline has been condensed a little, I apologize if that bugs you!_

_I'd love to give out a HUGE thanks to: AlmaLucia, Marzipan, TheGoldenHairedMockingjay, tiarna13, LievGavin, maybird 23 and RoseOfLannister. Thanks for reviewing, I wouldn't be able to write this story without your kindness!_

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned BBC's Sherlock. But my lawyers tell me the legal costs and fact I don't actually own any of it will hinder my case. So as of now, I own nothing of BBC's Sherlock. I do however, according to said lawyers, own my OC's so please be respectful!_

_**ALSO:**__ Please be __warned__ this chapter contains a bit of a__** gruesome scene**__ at the bottom, __**border-lining**__**M**__. If your not into the gory bits that fine I will mark the spots just __**please be warned!**_

-X-

It's night by the time she reaches her apartment. She pays the cabbie, giving a generous tip for his speed and lack of questioning. She climbs into the elevator and removes the glasses, tugging the beanie free despite all the loose strands that already stick out haphazardly. She lets her hair free from the bun, and let's the messy curls cascade down her back.

She rolls her stiff neck and winces at the sharp pain that's there when she does. Jeeze! She was going to need some serious painkillers, maybe a bit of alcohol. Hopefully, nothing was seriously injured, she didn't need her throat to swell. Her airway closing in the middle of the night would put a damper on things, suffocating in your sleep was a bad way to go.

The elevator doors ding and slowly roll open. She steps into the hall, pulling out her key she unlocks the door. The lock gives little resistance and pushes open easily, she hesitates, freezing in her tracks. She remembered locking her door on the way out, so why was it unlocked?

She doesn't have a weapon on her, but there are knives in the kitchen and the gun she's hidden in the false coffee table drawer in the living room. If she can make it to one of those she should be fine. _Should_ being the key word here.

She slowly pushes open the door, it squeaks quietly, and she almost's hangs her head at the cliche-ness of it. Inside the kitchen light is on, she can smell coffee. It's a welcoming smell. She pushes open the door a little wider and pokes her head in.

Nothing.

She slips inside and quietly closes the door behind her.

Nothing.

She slides off her shoes so she's left in her socks, and then tiptoes to the threshold of the living room.

Nothing.

She recounts silently in her head that the drawer is around the corner to her right ten steps in by the leather recliner that faces the kitchen. Lillian takes a steadying breath, and rounds the corner, immediately making for the hidden 9mm pistol.

However, she stops and freezes upon seeing one James Moriarty. He sits in the leather chair beside the coffee table, unloading her 9mm and emptying the one in the chamber before setting the dissembled gun on the wooden surface before her.

They stare at each other, onyx to jade. No one says anything for a long beat, Lillian tries to compose herself closing her agape mouth and trying to stop her gawking._How the bloody hell does he keep doing that!?_

"I made coffee" he states nonchalantly.

"I-" she trails off and looks nervously around the room, no Sebastian so... he came alone?

She relaxes her stance and takes another calming breath to stop the hammering of her heart in her chest. "I saw that, thanks...I think..." she lowers herself stiffly onto the couch across from him, settling in with a heavy sigh.

He's wearing a grey teeshirt, and a suit jacket, a pair of dark jeans and shiny black dress shoes. She feels this is the closest to casual she will ever see him. But the look is rushed, his hair messy almost like bed-head. Why?

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small box, setting it on the table he slides it across the wooden surface with his index and middle finger. She hesitates and then leans forward and picks up the box, examining it for a long moment before unwrapping it.

The device is slim and black, obviously brand new, the screen large and when she turns it on, it's a brilliant splash of color. Obviously, a very expensive top of the line cellphone. She's never seen it or even heard about it before. She wonders, briefly if it's even been released to the public yet.

"How did you-?"

"It's yours, brand new, so before you ask, no, I haven't tampered with it" he interrupts her, his dark eyes displaying some foreign emotion before it's quickly swept away. He studies her for a long moment before speaking again. "I heard about the CIA bust at Miss Adler's residence" he informs her.

She doesn't know why but she feels compelled to apologize, for what she hasn't a clue. "Oh."

He rises and walks behind the couch as if making for the kitchen. But then stops and leans over the back of the couch towards her, grabbing the collar of her jacket and brushing aside her hair. He turns it down to better examine the blossoming bruise of blue and purple that has formed an uneven ring around her neck.

She yanks away and turns around, her cheeks red. She goes to scold him, but his face is suddenly eerily dark, almost angry. _"Who_ did that?" his voice is soft, eerily composed, his face quickly snapping back to it's normal mask of indifference.

She doesn't answer, she's too stunned.

"Lillian?" he prompts sharply.

"Oh!" she blinks, pulled back to reality, "Sorry, got a bit of a headache" she apologizes quickly, and then silently curses herself for apologizing. _Dammit Lillian you pull your shit together!_

"One of those goons, knocked him out pretty good, messed his face up as well with a serving tray, rather proud of myself actually" she admits, her tone nonchalant, a smile at her lips.

He doesn't smile, not that she was _trying_ to make him smile.

He nods, as if making a mental note, "What are you doing here, Jim?" she inquires suddenly.

He watches her expression, and she tries to remain stoic, give nothing away. "Do you really want to know Lillian?" he replies back, his voice suddenly playful.

She glowers at him, but is glad he's dropped the dead-stare attitude and returned to his peppery routine, she doesn't hate this mask as much as the doom-and-gloom. She rises and turns on him.

"On second thought, no!" she replies back brightly, "And how the _hell_ did you get in?" she demands, placing slim hands on her hips, trying to look scolding.

"Same way I got in the first time, really you need better security Lillian!" he chortles, he's walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" she inquires curiously.

He turns and raises an eyebrow at her, "I have to see a man about a muzzle for his dog, why? Did you want me to stay?" he grins at her, a wide childish grin. She flushes and fervently shakes her head back and forth.

"I was _hoping_ you were leaving!" she declares.

He pressed his hand over his heart, "Your words wound me!" he muses.

She snorts, "I have a hard time believing anything wounds you, _Jimmy!"_ she mocks, glowering at him.

He pauses at the door, and she suddenly worries she's broken the thin line she's been walking with this strange, strange man by the use of a hated nickname.

But then he's moving again, "See you Friday, don't forget 9:30, _Lily!"_ he calls over his shoulder. He's gone and out the door before she can protest.

She stares at the door for a long moment, and even though she knows it's now futile she approaches it hesitantly and locks it. She then warily pours the pot of coffee down the drain. Opting instead for a glass of pricey red wine before downing two times the normally recommended dose of pain medication before stumbling off to bed.

-X-

It's Thursday, two days after the event. Her neck is still raw, it hurts to turn her head, and when she keeps it up too long it get's stiff. But, other than that no complaints, she mostly lays around in bed, eats junk food, and curls up on the sofa to watch gooey day time soap-opera's because nothing else is on.

It's a good two days because no one interrupts it. Not her banks, or her brother, not Jim Moriarty or Sebastian, not even Irene Alder or Sherlock Holmes. It's utter bliss, a bit of peace to the chaos of the last few days.

She's sitting on the couch, a bowl of ice cream, a particularly gooey scene on the TV screen. The mother loosing one of her twins during labor! But he's not really dead, her husband's _clone_ stole him! It brings tears to Lillian's eyes and she wraps the fluffy quilt tighter around her frame.

It's a lazy day, so she wears a pair of faded, bleached skinny jeans with large tears in the knees. And a battered concert-tee shirt, her hair pulled into two messy pigtails for the hell of it.

She's three spoonfuls into her ice cream when there's a quick knock on the door. She pauses the show, sets her bowl aside and rises to see who it is.

She opens the door a crack, maybe it's the landlord, or maybe it's one of the delivery's she placed earlier in the week. Instead, standing on the other side of her door isn't the delivery boy or the old landlord. This man is all spidery limbs and sharp cheek bones. Pale skin, dark midnight curls, and those icy blue eyes.

She slams the door closed in his face, and leans against the wood, clutching the fabric of her shirt above her heart and trying not to have a panic attack.

"It's Lillian, isn't it?" he inquires curiously from the other side of the door.

"How'd you find me?" Lillian croaks back, her voice full of nerves.

Sherlock snorts, "I'm not telling you from out here, you'll have to let me in" he replies.

"Go away!" she snaps back.

"No!" he answers back quickly, "Not till I've had a word with you!" he adds.

She sighs, thumping her head against the door a few times, "You gone yet?" she inquires with a moan.

"No."

She groans again, but unlocks the chain and let's the door swing open wide, he steps in and she sticks her head out into the hall, checking for anyone else, like the cops. Satisfied, she closes the door behind him. He walks into the living room and begins to examine her things, walking about the room, he studies it critically before moving onto the kitchen.

She crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling overly exposed. "And?" she demands, she's wandering towards the window to check the street for cops. He notices, rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything.

"I assume your referring as to how it is I found you?" he snorts.

She doesn't answer, only pointedly stares.

"Fine, from what I saw there was paint on your shoes, yellow, florescent, so street paint, that narrows it down to areas that have recently been painted, then there's the brick dust that was on your sleeve, probably from when you caught the door on your way out, either way all I had to do was look for those two criteria and then look for a building with a new tenant, a young girl who probably left a small impression on their landlord" Sherlock explains dismissively.

"I left an impression?" Lillian frowns.

Sherlock snorts, "Of course, elderly man whose wife left him for his younger best friend, and then a young girl buying one of his rooms, it was practically _Christmas_ for the man!"

She flushes and glowers at him, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue. She doesn't know why, well okay _maybe_ she does, but she wants to hit this man.

"Fine, fine!" she waves her hands around her head, trying to block the image of her 60 year old landlord from her thought. "Well, you found me, can you go now?!" she motions to the door in a big sweeping movement.

"No."

She gawks at him, "Excuse me?"

"Your excused!"

She throws her hands into the air in defeat and then throws herself onto the couch, cradling her bowl of ice cream. He walks out of the kitchen and around to the front of the couch, sitting into the chair only days before Jim Moriarty had been seated in.

"Fine then" she glowers, shoving a large spoonful into her mouth. "What is it that you want then?"

"Two things" he starts slowly.

Lillian rolls her eyes, "For the love of..." she trails off shaking her head. "If this is about Irene, I haven't a clue where she's run off to, or what she's up to. But, I can promise if I run into her again I'll be sure to add a little something extra for you to the punch I give her for leaving me there" she glowers.

Sherlock studies her, an almost perplexed look before he shakes his head, reaching into his coat pocket. "While that was part of my inquiry, which I will get to next, I first wanted to ask you about this."

He produces a rumpled photograph, a crime scene photo to be exact. He lays it out on her coffee table and smooths out the wrinkles and creases before sliding it towards her.

(BEGINNING OF GORY BIT)

The photo is of a man, his body laying in a ditch splayed out like some broken rag doll. He's practically naked in a wife-beater and boxer shorts. His pale skin has multiple and deep lacerations that mar much of his exposed flesh in methodical lines. His left knee cap looks out of place, jutting out awkwardly.

Both his hands have been removed, leaving nothing but bloody stubs. His throat has been slashed, leaving a wide open gaping wound, dried blood crusting around the split in the flesh. He looks to have been mercilessly tortured, and beaten.

(END OF GORY BIT)

His face is unmistakable, the man who tried to strangle her to death. The CIA agent who got a little too proactive in trying to silence any witnesses.

She feels ill, the room is spinning, she shoves the photo away from her. It slides across the surface and floats to the floor. Sherlock only observes quietly.

She hacks a cough and rises to stagger to the sink, incase she hurls.

She can handle the gruesome bits, it's not the blood and gore that shock her. It's the iron wrought dog muzzle that's securely wrapped over the CIA agent's bloodied face.

_'...I have to see a man about a muzzle for his dog...'_

Oh, crap...oh crap... oh crap... He didn't...he...it's coincidence...right? Just coincidence.

No matter how much she repeats it in her head, she knows it's not true. He _had_ to have something to do with it. There was no other way. _Shit...Irene was right..._

"H'm" Sherlock mutters. "Well that answers that question."

-X-

_AHHHHHH! Cliff hanger!_

_Review! Review now! I'd like to know what everyone's thought's on this chapter are. Next one will hopefully be up tomorrow, we'll see how it goes. And dead serious about that soap opera thing, you think it's funny but the whole clone thing...yeah that was a serious episode one time._

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	8. Chapter 8

_First off, extremely sorry about how late this chapter was out. I'm trying to slow down the releases for my chapters to put pressure off my school schedule. Hopefully, no one is too upset, I'll try to push out the next chapter much quicker! Promise!_

_Anyway, this chapter might be a little confusing if you don't read this. __**The italicized parts are flashbacks.**__ I've also put breaks between them to hopefully lessen confusion. Thanks to everyone for all your support and reviews, you guys are the best! I hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock. I do, however, own my OC's._

-X-

Four dresses are laid out on her bed, after hour of digging through her closet she's finally narrowed it down to a handful of options. _Not that she was trying to impress Jim Freaking Moriarty!_

She sits at the vanity, absentmindedly running one of the makeup brushes over the ridge of her cheekbones, adding a light tint of blush.

She was rather proud of her final appearance, a days worth of priming and she was satisfied with her efforts.

Her long hair had cooperated for once and was held back into a loosely braided bun, a few strands framing her slim face. A light blush putting a little color into her cheeks. A bit of red to bring out her full lips.

She wore a light red, almost pink, eyeshadow that brought out her jade eyes, a bit of eyeliner and a dash of mascara. She looked ready for battle.

Standing she approaches the bed and critically surveys her options. The first a beautiful red silk number was one of her more pricier dresses, definitely a winner when dealing with a mark. She picks up the silky garment and smiles softly at the little number. The red standing out against her pale skin.

Like blood.

-X-

_She's trying to remain upright. She's trying to remain calm. "Answer what exactly?" she inquires, her voice shakes, and she can't help but wince at the sound of her own voice. That __damn picture__ had landed face up on the floor and was at just the right angle for it to catch her eye._

_"That you didn't kill him" Sherlock answers simply._

_She straightens at that, the blood rushing from her face it makes her a bit dizzy and she clutches onto the marble counters for dear life._

-X-

She shakes her head softly, trying to rid herself of the memory of Sherlock's little visit yesterday. With a soft sigh she let's the silky gown fall from her fingers. It slides off the comforter of the bed and pools on the floor at her feet.

She moves onto the next gown, glancing briefly at the clock. It's 8:33. She has about an hour to finish getting ready, it's enough time. Of course, first she has to make a decision of what to wear.

It seems like an easy decision, nothing life threatening about choosing a gown.

But it's not just a gown she's choosing tonight, there's so much at stake. Jim Moriarty despite looks, was a very dangerous man, a killer. She was walking into a potential death trap tonight but... she was resolved in doing so. With the picture and Irene's words haunting her memory Lillian knew what she had to do tonight.

So it's not a gown she's choosing, it's her battle gear.

-X-

_"I...I...__**of course**__ I didn't kill him!" she gapes, "I...I didn't even know the guy!" she defends quickly._

_"That doesn't mean you couldn't have" he points out. "Tea, no milk" he adds._

_She gapes at him, what the __hell__ did he just say? At a time like this? Really? But then she shakes her head slowly and decides she needs something to do, something to keep from panicking. So she fills the kettle and sets it on the stove._

_There's a long few moments of silence as she takes a calming breath and tries to stop the pounding of her heart. _

_It must have been a few minutes before she finally turns back towards him. He doesn't say anything to break this silence merely sits there and observes her. It's...unnerving to say the least._

_"But... I didn't even know him," she repeats desperately. "How would I have been able to find him?" she continues._

_"I'm sure with friends like Irene Adler you would have had no trouble finding him" Sherlock replies calmly, she shuts up at that. _

_Ah...touche good sir..._

_"Beside's it doesn't matter, your reaction to the photo tells me everything, you didn't kill him..." he shrugs looking out the window. _

_"...but you know who did."_

-X-

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. She presses a hand to her forehead, gently massaging her temple as if this will physically force back the invading thoughts.

Focus. Focus on the dress. The dress Lillian. She reminds herself calmly.

The second gown is a short, sleeveless satin gown. The material a pearly white with a sheer fabric over the top to give it the soft rainbow glow of a pearl when it catches the light. She loves this gown, it had been a very good deal at one of her favorite Italian designers. She's picked it up when perusing through the woman's gallery, after hours of course.

No, too soft, definitely not the formal business-like attitude she wants to give off. So she tosses the gown over one of her shoulders and let's it join the other dozen or so dresses that have already formed a growing pile.

She stares at the third gown on her bed and holds it up to her small frame, turning towards the floor length mirror to her right to stare at her reflection with the gown pressed up to her.

-X-

_She's on her toes reaching up to grab the cups and saucers when she hears him._

_Surprised her hand freezes, breath catching it's a small pause couldn't have been longer than a second but it was there. She knows it, he knows it, she knows that he knows. It was apparent, to say the least._

_She snatches the proper cups and sets them down on the counter, they clink softly against the marble. She's been backed into a proverbial corner, she recognizes that now. So she get's defense, she get's cocky._

_She takes a half breath and put's her mask on, if Sherlock Holmes wanted names he'd have to drag them kicking and screaming from her._

_She smiles and raises a curt brow, "I might have an ideal, granted, I don't actually know as I wasn't present" she replies nonchalantly. _

_"Yes, but someone particular came to mind" he replies back easily._

_"Possibly, but for all you know I could have been thinking of the Easter bunny, wait... are you trying to tell me the Easter bunny killed that man?" she mocks a gasp of horror._

_Sherlock only studies her for a long moment, "You don't like confrontation" it's not a question._

_"I don't like being cornered, I like a fair fight is all" she corrects lightly. Behind her the kettle whistles._

_She grabs a mitt and removed the water pouring it over the two tea bags and letting it seep for a few minutes._

_"And how do you suggest we turn this into a fair fight?" Sherlock murmurs._

-X-

The gown is nice, black with a knee length pleated skirt. It's definitely the formal gown she wants with a modest sweetheart neckline and quarter length sleeves. But...it's missing something...h'm maybe business wasn't the way to go. So she tosses the dress to the growing pile on her floor and moves onto her last choice.

Well, if this didn't work it was back to the drawing boards and with only -she throws a glance at the clock- 30 minutes left she doesn't have much time.

She picks up the gown raising it, turning it, pressing it against her. Tossing it on the bed.

H'm now this was better.

She slips out of her jean shorts and tank top, unzipping the back of the gown she slips it on. She turns to the mirror and smiles at her reflection.

A wide toothy grin.

Okay, so it _wasn't_ business like, but she did feel like this was it.

This was _the_ gown, this was her armor.

-X-

_"Let's not assume things of one another, shall we?" Lillian replies quickly, with a sultry smile, adding her sugar she takes the cups and hands Sherlock his before seating herself once more._

_"For example, you won't assume I know the killer, and I won't assume you fancy Irene" she hums into her cup taking a tentative sip._

_"Those are two very separate assumptions, you admit to having knowledge of a killer while assuming, incorrectly might I add, whom I 'fancy'" Sherlock rolls his eyes._

_"I never admitted to having such knowledge!" she replies quickly, "If you remember my correct wording I said I had an __**ideal**__, and you Sherlock Holmes soooo fancy Irene."_

_"Your very careful in your wording, you've been doing it ever since I've walked through the door" Sherlock states with a soft sigh and a slight twitching of his lips._

_"Yes, well I've had a run in with a lot of people who twist your words around. Once you make your meaning very clear, well, there's nothing to twist" she smiles gently._

_"I assume you mean the Police?" _

_"And what did I say about assumptions Mr. Holmes!" she chides lightly._

-X-

The ringing of the doorbell drags her from her thoughts, followed by a very brisk knock. She looks to the clock and smiles, 9:30 on the dot. Very well done Mr. Moriarty. Well, he was punctual to say the least.

She slides on her shoes and smooths the invisible wrinkles of her dress. She grabs her clutch and heads for the doors. This was it. This was the battle she'd been dreading all day. Jim Moriarty was dangerous, and she can't handle the kind of shit he was into. Murder was definitely not on her agenda, even if it was some douche CIA agent who tried to kill her.

Time to cut all ties. She'll go to dinner, play nice, but then she's done. _He killed someone Lillian, killed someone,_ she reminds herself.

Another knock.

"Alright, Alright!" she calls, unlocking the clasp. "Keep your shoes on Jimmy!" she chides as she swings open the door.

Standing on the other side of the door, however, is not 'Jimmy.'

-X-

_Again sorry for the lateness of the chapter. Forgive me and then review. Next chapter will hopefully be up quicker than this one._

_TheAnonymousTypist_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Oh. My. Goodness.**_

_The amount of support I got for this chapter was super exciting! Thanks to __**EVERYONE**__ who reviewed, or has started following this story, you guys deserve a huge round of applause! As a result I am posting the next chapter a day early, as well as the following chapter by tomorrow afternoon, at the latest. So I hope the wait was worth it._

_Again, thanks to everyone so much!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock. I do however own my OC's so respect the creativity._

-X-

His auburn hair is slightly mused from the outside wind. His cheeks pink from the cold, his viridian eyes narrowed into slits. He wears a long jacket, a nice suit, and carries tucked under one of his arms his small travel bag and an umbrella.

_"Who the hell is Jimmy?"_

She has both hands on the door, going to slam it shut, but he's quicker and places his foot there first. She can't budge it shut and the wooden floors are suddenly slick under her stilettos. He places one firm hand on the door, and gives it a hard shove.

The high heels keep her unbalanced and she can't keep the necessary pressure on the door to keep it shut. His hard shove throws her off and she stumbles back, barely maintaining to keep herself upright as she catches herself on wall.

He's through the door, past the threshold, slamming the door shut with the heel of his foot. He enters the apartment and begins to observe all her things as if to find something incriminating about the polished wood and old leathers that he finds.

She can only gawk at him, _"How the hell did you find me?"_ she shouts angrily.

His eyes are narrowed once more, his lip curled into the semblance of a half-snarl, half-frown combination that only he has ever been able to pull off.

"Don't glare _Jackie_ it makes your eyes tiny!" she spits the familiar childhood retort.

He snorts a cold laugh, "I've been worried out of my mind for the past few months about you? Did you know that? Did you even care?" he snarls angrily.

She pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. _Steady, Lily, steady._

"Of course I care Jackson!" she replies gently, her voice still tense with anger.

"Oh yes, because an email about you _not_ being dead really shows the depths of your emotions Lily!" he snarks back.

"Your right I shouldn't have sent anything at all!" she shouts back, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation.

"No! Look I-" he groans and flops back on the couch, "Look I didn't mean that you _shouldn't_ have emailed, I just...wish there had been more..." he grumbles turning to face towards the windows.

She loses all of her steam there. He's suddenly not the raging overprotective younger brother, but the wide eyed, red haired nine year old who cried and tried to pick a fight with the cops when she was getting arrested for a pick pocketing charge.

God, their mother had _not_ been happy about that.

"How did you find me Jackson?" she inquires of her younger brother quietly.

He sighs, and rolls his head around to face her. "Your friend Irene...Something, called me and told me you had gotten into trouble, gave me your address told me to thank Sherly- whoever that is" he replies, the previous anger gone from his voice.

_Sherly...Sherly?...Sher...Sherlock? OH GOD DAMMIT! I'm going to kill them, Irene Adler and Sherlock Freaking Holmes!_

"Why did you leave?"

It's an innocent question, nothing damaging and he's not yelling it at her, which makes this question all the more dangerous.

His eyes are sad, and he's looking at her like she just spoiled Santa for him all over again.

"Because of that" she finally allows, sinking into the couch next to him.

"What?" he blinks at her in confusion.

"Your guilting me again, trying to make me feel terrible about what I've done" she replies quickly, nervously wringing her hands through the black fabric of her gown. "I _like _what I do Jackson, I _like_ the life I have, it's not perfect and by no means something that I ever want you or your kids involved in but this is what I do" she explains softly.

"Are you sure you don't just _think_ you like it? You don't have to live like a criminal anymore Lily, I mean, why can't you just do something else? Hell, don't do anything at all, I can take care of you now" he takes her hand and gives it a small squeeze.

She looks away and takes her hand with her, she's close to crying. _Dammit, please don't cry_.

As much as he says he understands, that he'll try to accept it, he never will. He will never understand.

Do something else? What else is there? She tried normal, she tried to live a clean life and look where that got her. Stuck in Irene Adler's house with the cops busting down the front door while she cradled an incapacitated Detective.

Don't do anything? Oh yeah, because that works _sooo_ well for everyone else, it has to work _wonders_ for her.

There's a quick rapping on knuckles on her front door and she rises quickly, "Wait! Lily!" Jackson calls after her in surprise.

She doesn't turn, she can't face him, because she'll scream and yell, probably cry. She'll say things that she means but will later come to regret because maybe she meant it at the time but four bottle of wine later and she'll be agonizing over it next to a toilet as she spews her guts.

"I'm going out, you can stay the night, we'll talk later" she's glad her voice doesn't waver, maybe he'll leave her be now.

She opens the door, and forces a smile.

It's not Jim, it's Sebastian.

She has to say that she's rather glad it's not the dark eyed possible-a-psychopath because she's pretty sure her smile is way to wide to be natural and her eyes are way to watery to blow off as a stubbed toe.

At first Sebastian's smile is calm, a little amused. Maybe he plans to make fun of the fact that she eventually agreed to take the 'goose-chase' that she so vehemently turned down the first time they met.

However, his smile drops suddenly upon taking in her slightly tearful expression and the fact that Jackson's on her heels, reaching for her. There's a sudden change of stance that catches Lillian off guard and before she can stop him, Sebastian's pushed past her. Grabbed Jackson by his outstretched arm and twisted it behind his back, pinning him hard to the wall.

"Seba-?" she cries in alarm.

"Did he hurt you?" Sebastian cuts her off calmly, applying a little pressure to Jackson's arm. Jackson cries out at the intense pain that shoots up the joint and squirms, but doesn't get far from his attackers iron grip.

"No!" Lillian tugs at Sebastian's arm, trying to pry the man off her younger brother. "We were just arguing, a little sibling tiff!" she cries angrily.

Sebastian immediately releases Jackson, and the man's pulled away quickly, cradling his injured appendage and glaring daggers at Sebastian. He makes a move, maybe to throw a punch at the man to regain some dignity, but Lillian steps in his path.

"Stop it!" she orders sharply. He does, slightly surprised at the severe tone she uses with him.

"Siblings?" Sebastian's voice inquires curiously from behind her.

Lillian forces a scowl onto her lips, spinning on Sebastian. _"Apologize!"_ she orders angrily. She's playing on dangerous ground here. Sebastian carries a gun, Sebastian works for Jim Moriarty, if anything he could kill them both and walk away totally unaffected, maybe even get away with it.

"Excuse me?" Sebastian's voice echoes his shock.

"You have two perfectly good ears Sebastian, you heard me!" she replies hotly. "Only three people in the world have _ever_ attacked my brother, two of them no longer have use in at least one of their appendages, the other is me, now apologize!"

Sebastian blinks at the small girl before him, before he chuckles softly, a smile touching his lips as he turns to the younger sibling. "I apologize, it seems I assessed the situation wrong" his voice is still tinted with a bit of his laughter but she has a feeling this is the closest to a real apology she'll get from the man.

So with a sigh she gathers her clutch and her coat. "Alright, let's go" she mutters softly.

"What? Lily? You're not seriously going with him? Dressed like that?" Jackson demands from behind her, surprise in his tone.

"Yes, Jackson, I am."

"What? No! No Lily! I can't let you-" Jackson starts to protest.

"I believe your sister has already made her choice" Sebastian cuts in calmly, his voice sharp.

_Well hell, this was most certainly turning into a giant shit ball of a night._

"It's just dinner Jackson, I'll be back in a few hours, stay in the guest room, I'll see you in the morning" she promises calmly.

Sebastian helps her into her coat and then they're moving down the hall. But Jackson has followed, he stands in the middle of the hall just outside her apartment door.

"Lily!" Jackson's voice is sharp with anger, it makes her pause with a sigh and turn around.

"Jackson, go back inside, we will talk later! You can yell then!" she whisper shouts down the hall so as to not wake the neighbors.

"He's bad news, whoever this _Jimmy_ guy is he's also bad news" Jackson yells angrily. _Well hell there goes consideration for the neighbors._ "If you go with him Lillian, if you go with him your choosing this life, of running and crime, over your family!" he snarls.

She thinks her heart breaks.

"What?" her voice is soft barely a whisper, she thinks she's about to faint, is that why Sebastian is steadying her?

"If you go with him Lillian, I don't want you near me or my family ever again" Jackson states sharply.

Yep, definitely broken, the shards of her heart poke and prod at her chest. It hurts, it really hurts. With every breath it sears her lungs and makes her want to curl into a ball and just cry for hours. That's when the first few tears fall slowly down her cheek.

"You...your making me choose?" she whispers brokenly. He doesn't say anything only stare at her.

She thinks of Eloise, a slender brunette who had stolen Jackson's heart. The day they married she'd been maid of honor, because Eloise didn't want Lillian to feel left out. She'd been so kind and through it Lillian had genuinely come to think of the young girl as another addition to their family.

She thinks of Oliver and Elisabeth, the two five year old twins whom Lillian often babysat for. How they called her Auntie and curled into her bed during the night despite the great lengths she went through to build them a fortress of pillows and sheets.

She thinks of Jackson, the boy she practically raised, despite the fact she had been in and out of the system and on the run since she was in high school. She thought of how his wide toothless grins use to always cheer her up, and how he use to think that she was some kind of Super-hero from his comic books.

She thought of their smiling faces, and then of the dead man that had been lying in a ditch somewhere.

This is what her life had become, something dangerous and just... not good. Something that she would never want to expose her family to. So, even with the sharp pain in her chest, she forced a soft smile onto her lips.

"Goodbye, Jack."

And then she boards the elevator with Sebastian, she had a dinner to attend.

-X-

_Okay a depressing little chapter, and probably something not a lot of you were expecting. Don't worry __**it gets better I promise! **__**Everything will work out**__ so please don't skin me or yell! _

_There is a Method to my Madness! _

_It will get better, and yes, the much awaited dinner is next._

_The AnonymousTypist_


	10. Chapter 10

_I AM SO SORRY! I know this was suppose to be updated awhile ago, like I promised, but an unfortunate series of events (involving work, school, and an unfortunate trip to the ER) led to this late update. Hopefully everyone will forgive me, eventually, and enjoy this chapter! _

_I would like to thank __**EVERYONE**__ who __**reviewed**__, and have begun to follow this story the amount of support I got made me all teary eyed and giddy feeling. So thank you sooooooo much, your the best readers a writer could ask for! And to those who offered up helpful suggestions thank you as well, I promise in the near future to go and correct all the errors that you saw, as you can tell I am my own beta so sometimes things slip past me in my excitement to publish a chapter. _

_As for the changes in P.O.V. some of them were intentional, the italicized portions where meant to be from Lillian's point of view (her thoughts to be exact), which is why they were italicized, but there were a few places where I saw I had done a change in P.O.V. without italicizing it so I shall go and correct these as soon as possible. Again, thank you very much and please continue to correct errors its a huge help to me!_

_To help with what could be confusing here's a few tips for this chapter:_

_'blahblahblah...' - are Lillian's thoughts._

_blahblahblah - are stressed words._

_and then __blahblahblah__ - will be flashbacks._

_I hope this helps! _

_Disclaimer:__ I don't own Sherlock, I do own my OC's. So respect the ownership!_

-X-

Lillian dots the handkerchief around her eyes trying not to smudge her makeup anymore than it already is. She looks into the compact once more and lightly applies powder around her eyes in an effort to make them less puffy and red.

She hadn't cried... _much,_ a few sniffles in the back seat of the SUV which Sebastian politely ignored.

She balls up the handkerchief into her fist and shoves it into her clutch pulling out her emergency mascara and eyeliner to put the finishing touches on her reapplication.

When she's done she slips everything back into her clutch and glances at the clock on the dashboard of the SUV.

10:23

_'Ah, yes well this night couldn't possibly get any worst!'_ The thought brings fresh tears to her eyes, and the panic begins to set in.

'_Holy cow, what have I done?'_

She had just cut all connections with her only family, and now she's going to have dinner with a killer. A lump forms in her throat making it hard to swallow, her chest feels tight and her stomach is suddenly somersaulting. She needs to get off this train of thought before she has a panic attack.

She hums softly to herself trying to create white noise and then she focuses, thinking about her first theft, the first time she touched the oily canvas of a Rembrandt, the first time she cracked a safe, the first time she...she... Jackson had been there...afterwards, to scold or congratulate her depending on his mood, but he was always there for her.

_'Ah! Ah, crap, no this wasn't helping!'_

She squeezes her eyes closed and focuses on _not_ crying, "Will the restaurant still hold the table if we're late?" Lillian inquires softly from the back seat, secretively glad her voice doesn't crack.

Sebastian glances at her in the rearview and smiles gently as if laughing at a private joke. "Yes" he answers simply.

She opens her eyes to glances around, she just needed to go to this dinner, think of nothing else but this dinner. She could panic and break down later with a tub of Ben & Jerry's and a nice bottle of 1986 Chteau Mouton Rothschild Pauillac.

Looking around she noticed that the heavy traffic and the sparkling lights of London were getting fewer and fewer, they were heading towards the countryside. The SUV jolts forward a little as Sebastian pulls off the main road and up a winding gravel path, tall grass and thick clumps of trees on either side of her.

_'Where were they?'_

She feigns disinterest in their sudden course change but inside she's cursing herself in a manor that would make a sailor blush. She should have been paying more attention to the direction they were traveling in and not on her dark thoughts.

The trees begin to thin along the gravel path and soon Lillian can make out a house in the distance, well... house is an understatement. A small castle to be exact, the large three story monstrosity sits on one of the rolling green hills nestled between two thickets of forest.

Lillian can only blink in shock. _'No freaking way...'_

They pull up the circular path, the smooth gravel crunching beneath the weight of the tires. The rumbling engine cuts off it's guttural cry and Sebastian jumps out, opening her door and politely holding out a hand.

For one moment of confusion she stares at the offered hand blankly and then looks up to his amused smile, blinking at him in shock. "I thought he said dinner" she murmurs after a long pause.

Sebastian smiles kindly and nods his head, "This is dinner" Sebastian confirms.

She rolls her eyes and takes his hand sliding from the car. "I thought he meant at a restaurant, somewhere._..public_" her lips twist into a grimace.

He shuts the car door, with a muffled thump that resonates to her core and makes her shiver at the finality of it. It makes her painfully aware this man is her only means of escape if things turn sour. And with how this night was going so far, well it didn't look too good.

Her clutch falls to the graveled floor and Sebastian politely reaches for it, but Lillian's quicker, she leans down and scoops it up quickly, briefly opening it to check the safety of the contents.

Sebastian watches with a poorly suppressed smile, "Public?" he echoes an amused gleam in his eyes. "That's not really Mr. Moriarty's style, too many witnesses" he continues lightly, she freezes wide eyed on the spot.

He laughs at her expression, with a shark like grin full of too much teeth. "Kidding, only kidding!" he waves her off, offering up his arm once more.

Despite his laughter, there's that edge in his voice, the dark gleam in his eyes that puts her already twisting stomach into tightening knots that almost make her turn around and leave as quickly as possible.

She's a little unsteady in her heels on the gravel and Sebastian helps to steady her until they reach the steps to the front door. He doesn't knock but pushes open the front door and motions for Lillian to enter.

These thoughts are pushed aside momentarily as they step into the grand foyer, everything is so polished and shiny from the dark wood floors to the enormous sparkling chandelier. The towering ceiling and the expensive portraits and landscape paintings that adorn the wall. The cavernous foyer is complete with a grand staircase of dark woods. It's money at it's best.

He's standing on the staircase, waiting, his dark eyes studying her carefully and she suddenly wishes she'd put more effort into hiding the fact she'd been crying. She turns to inspect one of the paintings trying to feign interest until he's ground level with her.

Sebastian brushes past her and climbs the steps to stop in front of Jim whispering something low and fast. Jim listens intently and only once do his eyes widen a fraction before narrowing carefully. He gives one sharp nod and Sebastian descends the stairs quickly and resumes his post by the front door.

His dark eyes are on her once more, cutting into her and she can't help but flinch from his gaze, averting her eyes to the painting in front of her.

_'Alright Lillian. Game time!'_ she comforts herself silently, pushing down the nights angst that threatens to break her.

"Busy night?" he murmurs calmly, slowly almost predatorily descending the stairs.

She doesn't want to talk about that, "Is this your house?" she inquires curiously, still not turning to face him.

He sighs softly, but even from the corner of her eye she can see him smiling. "No" he admits quietly, "I'm borrowing it from an... acquaintance" he settles on the word with dark smile.

She's so focused on not meeting his gaze, on focusing on the painting that she misses the meaningful glance towards Sebastian, and how the man subtly nudges the protruding corner of a bloodied persian rug out of sight.

"H'm" she hums softly, she doesn't believe him, not completely at least. No one from this kind of wealth puts their house on loan to a mere _'acquaintance,'_ it leaves her wondering if the owner is under some kind of duress and what he did to upset a man like Jim Moriarty.

Jim is at her side now, looking over her shoulder to study the painting that she seems so intent on. Only the reality is she doesn't care much for the painting it's a recreation of a 16th century masterpiece, the brush strokes are all wrong too many pauses in the normally flawless practiced strokes, and the oil from the canvas has a shine to it that only come from the new chemically treated paints of today.

She just doesn't want to meet the man's gaze, she fears what she'll see there. "Well, I hope your acquaintance didn't pay too much for this" she muses offhandedly.

"Oh?" there's a bit of laughter in his tone that makes her feel a tad insulted.

She's all nerves and jitters now, and can't stop the jumble of words from spilling from her mouth. "It's crap work at best, I mean if you wanted to get it past an art dealer you'd have no problem in doing so, the differences in the artworks aren't noticeable, they at least did a good job in keeping with the blistering and cracking that comes with old mistreated artwork, the problem is if you were to put it past a dating test they could tell the paint is acrylic based, see how it has the shine, all paints during this time were linseed oil, that or egg based."

She realizes now that she's basically just word vomited her thoughts and she can't help the embarrassment that floods her and colors her cheeks. She spins around and clears her throat nervously. "Granted I can't be sure, you'd have to ask an art expert" she laughs lightly, in an attempt to backtrack.

His head is cocked slightly to the side, dark eyes studying her curiously. She feels scrutinized and realizes by turning around how close they are to each other. She takes a firm step back, "Sorry I'm late" she adds quietly. "I get the feeling you don't often wait when someone's this late, so thanks... I think..." she makes a face that brings a small smirk to Jim's lips.

He chuckles, "I keep a tight schedule," he agrees, "A lot of my work is very time sensitive, leave a client waiting to long and he's bound to well.._.explode."_ He smiles at her, and she can only stare at him in confusion, brow slightly scrunched as she mulls over his choice in words. _'Explode?'_

"But I do love this" he coos, taking a half step back, his eyes wandering appreciatively over her small frame and dress choice. Lillian could almost cry, this man shifted between moods and persona's so fast it was giving her a headache.

One minute he's dark and sinister with that sharp wit that she finds so enjoyable, and then he's childish, sharp minded and petty Jim that she can't rightly keep track of.

The compliment throws her off, and she blinks down at her gown, unable to stop the flush that heats her cheeks. "Thank you" she murmurs quietly.

Her dress was elegant, a bit edgy, especially for what turned out to be a quiet dinner at his 'acquaintances' house. The dress itself was black, and strapless, revealing her smooth collarbone and creamy pale shoulders. The gown hugged her hourglass shape, with a ruche bodice.

The dress had a taffeta high-low hemline, the front just past mid-thigh showing long slim pale legs. While the back of the gown brushed the floor. To finish off the look she wore a pair of scarlet red peep-toe, sling back stilettos. The color of the shoes, matched her little red clutch.

He stares for a second longer then spins on his heels and turns towards one of the long halls to the side, "Come on, dinner will get cold" he calls over his shoulder.

She has time to study him now, he wears another Westwood tonight, another black one that hugs his thin wiry frame, revealing the sinewy lines of taunt muscles on his back and upper arms when he leans forward. A scarlet red tie and a white button down, she likes the way the black contrasts with his pale skin, and always manages to make his eyes seem darker, like onyx.

She freezes at the thought..._likes..._

_'Oh god I need a drink! This whole night is making me crazy.'_ She shifts nervously and notice's he's waiting for her at the threshold, a smile that reveals he's caught her gaze on him.

She turns red, but sniffs dismissively, turning her chin up defiantly. "Checking for any weapons, some trick up your sleeve" she defends quickly, and then curses herself over how dull witted the excuse sounds.

"Of course!" Jim chortles amused as he sticks his hands in his pockets and begins his nonchalant stroll down the gorgeous hall.

He leads her to a large dining room, just as grand and luxurious as the foyer, only more gold fixtures in this room. The large dining room table has been set for two, large expensive china plates and beautiful glass wine goblets as well as polished (and what looked to be) gold utensils.

She stares at the utensils for a moment and then to Jim with a raised brow, he can't help the small smile as he holds out her seat, settled to the right of his own seat. She takes her seat and let's him push her in before he takes his own.

"Shouldn't we set a third plate?" Lillian teases playfully, motioning over her shoulder to Sebastian who hovers at the doorway.

It's Jim's turn to roll his eyes and he dismissively waves to Sebastian who gives a curt nod and disappears around the corner, closing the double doors to the dinning room behind him.

"Better?" Jim inquires mockingly.

"Much!" she replies just as mockingly.

There's a moments pause, where their eyes lock and they reach the point where playful banter, and teasing insult-laced words can no longer be exchanged without brushing upon the important subjects at hand.

"Well I'm here" Lillian murmurs after a quiet moment, her voice soft.

"Astute observation" he teases with a smile, his voice just as soft.

She snorts a small laugh, despite the serious manner this conversation is taking. "Why?" she finally presses.

"I'm sure I've told you" Jim pouts, but his playfulness is slowly drawing to a close. She can tell by the way he collapses back into his chair, and places a hand against the side of his head, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.

"Riddles wrapped in pretty words Jim, you're not fooling anyone, you called me here for a reason, why?" she snaps, her nerves and patients are already stretched to there limit tonight, and his stubbornness is helping no one.

Jim hesitates, and Lillian can say honestly this is the first the time the man has ever looked contemplative in her presence. It's not a bad look, _'_Thoughtful Jim' is much better than 'Angry Jim.'

"I have a business proposal for you, one which might benefit the both of us" he hedges carefully.

She groans in frustration, "Honestly Jim! How might my skills benefit the kind of business your into!?" she snaps, and then all at once the anger fades leaving her with a kind of boneless feeling, that makes her feel suddenly small.

_'Oh...shit...'_

One of Jim's sculpted eyebrow's lift, _"And what, __Lillian__, do you know of my business?"_ he drops his arm and carefully leans forward, while his voice is pleasant there's the dangerous venom that lurks beneath the surface of his words.

"Rumors" she defends quickly, averting her gaze.

"From whom?" he mocks, in a sing-song manner.

"Can't recall" she whispers softly.

"H'm" Jim hums. The door opens abruptly, startling Lillian. Sebastian walks into the room leading a man in a white apron whose carrying a large silver platter.

The man set's the plater down next to Lillian and removes the lid revealing two pearly white plates with their starter. He sets the first plate down in front of Lillian, piled with a green salad and topped with a honey mustard dressing.

As he sets down the plate in front of her, the plate rattles, and she notices his hands shaking violently. She looks up at him curiously but he averts his gaze from hers, a large sheen of sweat on much of his balding head.

He then goes to Jim's side, setting the plate down quickly, and flinching when Jim's eyes turn towards him. He hurriedly collects the platter and lid, practically sprinting from the room.

Jim looks to Sebastian who nods shortly, and sets a manila folder and a bottle of wine in front of Jim before turning and following after the fleeing man.

Lillian watches Sebastian go, and listens to the sharp click of the door as it closes. She can feel Jim's eyes on her, and she almost wishes to call them back, be the proverbial barrier to this souring line of inquiry.

Lillian turns around, but refuses to meet Jim's gaze. She picks up her salad fork and stabs at the leafy greens, shoving a fork full into her mouth to avoid speaking for a moment longer. She casts a sideways glance at the man and watches as he uncorks the wine, the bottle popping loudly making her jump.

He pours them each a generous amount before setting the bottle down, she catches sight of the label and nearly chokes to death on her salad. Jim raises an eyebrow at her in confusion. She can't form words as she tries to clear her airway and instead points accusingly at the bottle.

"What?" he picks up the bottle and eyes it speculatively.

"Do you know what that is?" she finally hacks out.

He raises a brow, a mocking and playful smile on his lips. "Wine."

She gawks at him, "That's a bottle of 1865 Chateau Lafite, it goes for about forty-five hundred to five thousand _a glass, _when I was in New York I was going to take this, but a private bidder from London picked it up before I could" she marvels gently taking the bottle from him and rolling it between her small hands. "I guess I know who beat me to it" she muses softly.

As if startled she raises her wide eyed gaze to him, "Are we actually going to drink this?" she whispers in shock.

Jim raises a brow at her, but his smile is amused, "I did pour your glass didn't I?" he muses. "I saw you liked expensive wines, glad you approve of my choice."

She flushes red and gently sets the bottle down, "You saw that I likes expensive wines?" she blinks in confusion.

Realization dawns on her, he must have seen the small wine fridge where she kept her wines when he was snooping around her kitchen.

She twists her hands nervously, "This bottle went for about a hundred and twenty thousand at the auction house, this is about the cost of a house, Jim I don't pay for any of my wines..." she trails of embarrassed, feeling a bit guilty.

Jim snorts a laugh and she watches a little stunned, "It's okay Lillian, neither did I."

She let's out a small sigh of relief, and snatches the wine glass off the table, gently swirling the wine in the glass before taking a small sip and savoring the taste. She's glad for the momentary respite from the seriousness the previous conversation had had.

She doesn't have a long pause for he opens the folder and slides a picture across the table and into her line of sight.

The image is a tad grainy from the zoom, but it's clearly Sherlock Holmes standing in her doorway as she opens the door wider to let him in, her face clearly annoyed. She nearly spits out her wine in surprise, but manages to collect herself in time to set the glass down as she stares at the photo.

_'How did he...?'_

The angle the photo was taken at must have been from the emergency staircase close to her front door, how she missed the photographer was a mystery to her. She silently promised herself to check said spot when she got home.

She feigns innocence and picks up her fork, spearing a spinach leaves before jade eyes flicker up to meet Jim's dark ones.

"Care to explain?" Jim murmurs, voice suddenly dark. She blinks at him in shock, puzzled by his reaction. Did he perhaps have history with the Consulting Detective?

She puts a hand on the photo and slides it back towards him, putting her best glower on. "He wanted to ask me about Irene" she lies easily.

Jim stares at her, lip curling slightly as if in disgust. "Liar."

Hurt and guilt run through her and send a sudden chill up her spine. She gently sets her fork aside, and picks up the linen napkin and wipes a bit of dressing from her lips. "Yes" she concedes, she picks up her clutch and digs around, avoiding the tear stained handkerchief she pulls out a tightly folded picture.

She closes her clutch and careful unfurls the folded picture, smoothing the creases, she shoves the crime scene photo back at Jim. He takes the photo and studies it for a second, a bit of surprise flittering over his feature's.

He looks oddly proud as he sets aside the photo. "I know it was you, at least I'm almost positive" she murmurs after a second of silence. "I just haven't decided whether to be flattered, or disgusted and afraid" she adds softly.

Jim doesn't seem perturbed, he shrugs and for the first time picking up his fork to spear a large chunk of spinach. "Flattered I should think" he tells her, chewing thoughtfully on his food as he watches her.

She can only gawk at him in surprise, sure she was 99.9% sure Jim had something to do with this man's death, but to hear it validated and in such a flippant way. Almost as if it wasn't a life he took, a man he killed.

"So did Sherlock suspect you?" Jim asks, feigning innocent curiosity, yet she could see he was oddly eager to learn such a trivial detail.

"No."

"Oh good boy Mr. Holmes!" Jim hums excitedly. "Well, do tell" Jim presses.

She stares at him peculiarly, "Do you have some kind of obsession with the man Jim?" she questions suddenly, her bluntness making him pause.

A smile curls his lips into a Cheshire grin, "Obsessions a rather harsh term, I'd like to think of it as a healthy rivalry, a game between two players if you must" he muses.

"Well, you've kept me in suspense long enough...What happened?" his tone has lost it's playfulness, instead he looks oddly serious.

Surprised, she averts her gaze and pretends interest in her food, despite the fact she's lost her appetite by now. "Not much, he came in showed me the photo to scare me, demanded to know the identity of the killer, said I knew...something about my expression" she pauses for a second to glance up at him, get a read on his mood,_ 'H'm still serious...'_

"We argued for a bit, much like when I first met you, and then..." she trails off suddenly.

"And then?"

_-Flashback-_

_They stared at each other for a long moment across the space of her coffee table, Lillian taking a long deliberately slow sip of her tea, while Sherlock seemed more interested in rolling the cup between his hands, before taking a small sip of his own beverage._

_"Have we reached an impasse then?" Lillian hums lightly, with an innocent smile._

_Sherlock shrugs, "It would appear so."_

_"So you'll be taking your leave now, I assume?" she teases softly._

_Sherlock doesn't answer, instead: "I just wanted to see what would make a thief want to keep the company of a killer" he continues nonchalantly, rising from his seat.__ 'Thief?!'_

_"What!?" she's wide eyed in alarm.__ 'How in the hell did he jump to that?'_

_"You handwriting" he answers her thoughts, moving toward the doo__r__. _

_"I'm sorry?" she blinks at him, still a little bewildered._

_He let's out an exasperated sigh, and then explains slowly like one would do to a child, "The handwriting on your fridge, matches that of post-it notes found at a local art gallery that was recently __burglarized__.__"_

_She turns to her fridge, sure enough her calendar is wide open, specific dates circled and scribbled in, but the writing it so small, how did he notice?_

_"You won't be able to prove that" she sputters after a moment, panicking._

_He's walking towards the door, looking over his shoulder with a vicious smile, "Can't I?" He holds up his phone screen towards her, showing a well taken photograph of her handwriting. _

_She can only marvel,__ 'When did he have time to take that, and without her noticing?' __She jumps to her feet, knocking over her cup in the process and sending it clattering to the floor._

_"Are you going to turn me in Sherlock?" she questions heatedly, "Or just blackmail me?"_

_Sherlock doesn't reply, he opens the door and steps out, "We'll keep in touch Lillian, I still have questions for you!" he calls over his shoulder, and then he closes the door and is gone._

_-End Flashback-_

"Lillian?" Jim's voice brings her from her reverie.

Startled she looks up to his frowning face, and decides it's not in Mr. Holmes best interest if she were to tell Jim what really went on that day. After the man had killed a CIA Agent for simply being a little too overzealous in his work, she shivered at the ideal of telling Jim she was possibly being blackmailed by the Consulting Detective.

Despite the fact she didn't like having evidence out there against her, she doesn't wish death upon anyone in her name, even if it was to protect her. Beside's she had a few ideals on how to get back at the Consulting Detective that she couldn't wait to try, him dying would only put a damper on those plans.

"And then he left" she answers calmly, and with a little finality.

He narrows his eyes and studies her, she worries for a moment that he's seen through her, she scrambles for any possible way to back herself out of this corner.

The doors open once more, Sebastian and the nervous cook step through. He sets the platter by Lillian once more, collecting the mostly untouched first course meals with a grimace. And then he opens the tray revealing their next course, beef wellington with a side of steamed vegetables and a basket of what she suspect's to be freshly baked rolls.

She smiles as she regains her appetite, the plate is set before her and then Jim. And then just like before the man scurries as fast as he can from the room. Sebastian murmuring something in Jim's ear before turning and leaving as well.

She picks up her fork and pretends not to notice this brief conversation, she cuts into the wellington inwardly grinning in delight.

"Your brother just checked into the Dukes Hotel, he's booked a flight out for tomorrow afternoon" Jim states suddenly.

She doesn't know she's dropped her knife until it clatters noisily onto the plate, the noise isn't enough to startle her out of the growing depression that once more creeps upon her. _'So he did leave, or will leave to be more exact.'_

A small part of her had silently hoped that he was going to be all bark and no bite, but she knows Jackson he always keeps his word. Her appetite is once more gone, and she doesn't think she'll be getting it back anytime soon.

"You and your brother don't look much alike" Jim has pulled another photo from the manila folder, looking it over with mild interest as he pops a chuck of carrot into his mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully and blissfully ignorant to her sudden depression. Either that or he was aware and using this to his advantage in some way.

She rises, knocking the chair back a little, she leans across the table and snatches the photo from his hands, stepping away from the table so he can't take it back, she stares at the up close photo of Jackson stepping out of a cab into her apartment building.

She get's a little teary eyed at the sight of his smiling face, totally oblivious to the men taking photos of him. "We aren't blood related" she explains softly, her voice just a whisper. "We were adopted together, I've been taking care of him since we were kids" she adds gently.

"And yet you left him so easily" Jim mocks quietly.

She looks up sharply, blinking in surprise. "What?! No...wait, that's not why I...I mean..." she scrambles. Inwardly she's cursing her very existence, this man could throw her off balance with a few well timed words, he was toying with her.

His smile is almost lazy, he leans on one of the arms of the chair his food untouched. Her small hands clench, one of them still clutching the photo so that it crumbles in her hand. "What do you want from me?" she questions softly.

His smile is vicious, "Whatever could you mean? I only want-"

"Yeah, yeah, you've said you only wanted dinner, but we both know that's bullshit don't we, a man like you doesn't_ just have dinner_, he has meetings and interviews..._And oh my god!?_ Is that what this is, some twisted interview where you bully me into doing something for you?" she pauses and then lunges forward across the table she snags the folder and rips free the picture of Sherlock Holmes slamming it on the table.

"Is this about him then?" she stabs at the photo of the Consulting Detective, "Because I'm telling you now I'll have nothing to do with it, I'll have nothing to do with either of you!? Whatever twisted game your playing just leave me and my family out of it!" when she's done with her rant her shoulders are heaving, her breathing ragged, and for some _goddamn_ reason that she can't explain she's crying.

She quickly turns away letting the folder slip from her grip so she can quickly scrub at the tears with the backs of her hands. _'Dammit, dammit, dammit!'_

Jim hasn't moved from his chair, even when she leaned over him to snatch away the folder. He's watching her, expression curious, if not a little amused.

"We've met before" he points out suddenly.

The change in direction of the conversation momentarily throws her for a loop. She turns around, the tears finally gone, and stares at him as if he's grown a second head, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, your little excursion to the cafe, bravo!" she spits in a sarcastic snort.

He chuckles softly, and this only further irritates her, but she holds her tongue. "Before that, I'm surprised you don't remember, then again, it was a different time" he smiles once more, that predatory smile that sends chills up her spin.

As if a blessing from the gods, the double doors once more swing open and Sebastian steps through, followed a few seconds later by the cook.

"I need to freshen up!" she blurts out suddenly, she grabs her clutch, discarding of the crumbled picture of Jackson in her bag, before spinning around and running headlong into Sebastian.

She stumbles back a few steps and he reaches out to balance her. "Thanks" she mumbles hurriedly, brushing past him and practically running for the double doors.

Sebastian watches her flee, and then blinks the weight of his coat seems a little off. "Check your front pocket" Jim supplies, a small dark smile on his lips.

Sebastian reaches into his front coat pocket and retrieves a few of the small round stones from outside instead of the car keys. "When did she?" Sebastian blinks in surprise. Outside they can hear the SUV roar to life and then fade as it takes off down the drive.

"Seems Ms. Glass is quicker than I originally gave her credit for" Jim muses. "Call the driver around for the car then, it will give us enough time to set things in order here" Jim orders offhandedly, rising from his seat.

"And Ms. Glass boss?" Sebastian inquires as he watches Jim leave the room.

"Can wait for now" Jim interrupts quickly, "She could be more useful than I originally intended" he smiles darkly.

He pauses at the threshold and looks back at Sebastian with a cruel little smile, "Get rid of the cook Sebastian, it doesn't seem the lady appreciated his cooking."

And then he's gone, it's just Sebastian and the cook now. Sebastian doesn't move for a long moment then reaches into his coat, the cook drops the tray and makes a run for the door, but doesn't make it very far.

-X-

She sat next to him, alternating between texting away at the little blackberry in her hands, to quietly berating whatever General or Politician had irritated her through the cars telephone. He on the other hand flips through the folder in his hands, what little information they could scrounge up about the new threat, James Moriarty.

He'd popped up on the Government's radar after a meeting with the man's younger sibling, a rather trifling affair that apparently employed a bomb vest. His opinion on the whole matter bordered on uninterested.

While James Moriarty posed a real threat to national security, this was true, his real goal seemed to borderline on obsession of his younger brother. Some wannabe criminal that only wanted to catch his brother's attention.

It all was tiring, truly exhausting. His brother while wanting to do good, only seemed to cause more harm then good sometimes. Start making a name for yourself catching all the criminals and sooner or later, your going to pull on the tail of a snake and get bitten, or worse become one.

"Mycroft?" Anthea called, judging by the way she lowered the Blackberry and peers over the rim of her glasses at him, she'd been calling for sometime.

"Ah, yes, sorry" Mycroft murmurs.

She returns to the screen of her blackberry, "We are here, sir" she muses softly.

He looks out the window once more and smiles, "It would appear we are" he chuckles softly, grabbing the handle of his umbrella he slides out of the car, the driver and security guard holding the door open for both him and Anthea.

As per tradition the guard walks up the steps towards his house to get the door.

"Nice to be home sir?" Anthea inquires, though she doesn't raise her gaze to him.

Mycroft sighs softly, "Just to keep up appearance, only for a day or so, then back to London, we have much to do" he murmurs and she gives a sharp nod.

The guard knocks on the front door, there's no resistance and the door rolls open, loose on it's hinges. The guard pulls his gun out, the driver also retrieves his hidden weapon as well as Anthea. The guard uses the toe of his shoe to push the door open further and peers into the large foyer.

Even from where he stands, Mycroft can see the mangled and bloodied corpses of both his House Keeper and Cook. As well as a message in blood on the wall behind their splayed bodies.

_"Thanks for lending us your house, dinner was less than amazing! -M"_

The door is slammed shut and the guard is down the steps talking quickly on his phone, ordering in back up to sweep the house. Anthea is also on the phone and the driver is on look out.

Mycroft sighs softly, leaning on his umbrella. He knows better, Moriarty and his men are long gone. This is merely a power play, a simple move to make sure Mycroft doesn't underestimate the criminal.

"Much to do" Mycroft hums softly.

-X-

Lillian spins the SUV keys around on her index finger, she parked it a few blocks over incase Moriarty decided to call it in stolen. Just outside her apartment building she threw the keys into the street, deciding whomever was watching her apartment could get it. And if not then oh well, looks like someone was getting a free SUV.

Snagging the keys had been child's play, merely scoop up a few of the loose stones when she 'dropped' her bag, and then when she 'bumped' into Sebastian disguise the switch by replacing the weight of the keys with the weigh of the stones. An old trick from her pick pocketing days, glad she wasn't too terribly rusty.

She steps into the elevator and digs around in her clutch for her keys, leaning against the cool metal of the elevator she lets out a yawn, she's exhausted, she wants a few glasses of cheap wine, maybe something a little stronger, and to sleep for the next few days.

The elevator dings and she steps off on her floor, only to turn around and attempt to get back on the elevator. But the doors are quick and she's left facing the elevator doors practically leaning on the call button.

"We need to talk" Sherlock calls, leaning against her front door.

She sighs, turning back around and giving up on the elevator, she goes to her door and finds it unlocked, she glares daggers at Sherlock.

"I thought you were ignoring me" he explains unapologetic.

"Can't this wait till morning, I've had a long day" she grumbles, entering her apartment, Sherlock on her heels. "No please come in" she snorts sarcastically.

"This can't wait it's important" and then as if Sherlock is seeing her for the first time his brow furrows and he points at her. "What are you wearing?"

"I'm not going to validate that question with an answer" she snorts with an eye roll. "Go home Sherlock you can bother me at a reasonable hour tomorrow" she adds reaching into the liquor cabinet and grabbing the whiskey. Strong it is.

She grabs a glass and practically slams it down on the counter, Sherlock eyeing her warily. "Well? Hurry up, spit it out!" she snaps angrily, pouring herself a rather large glass.

"Irene's body has been found."

-X-

_Don't kill me! I'm sorry this is so late! Please forgive all the minor errors, anything major I will fix it when I get around to it. Again super sorry please review, tell me what you think!_

_-TheAnonymousTypist_


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